


The Dog that Belonged to Himself

by liliaeth



Series: Skinwalker!Dean [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after John Winchester lost his wife to demons, he lost his oldest son to a Skinwalker. Now, twelve years later, he's hunted down every single Skinwalker he could find and killed them, unaware that his oldest is still alive. That the monster that took his child hadn't taken his life, just his humanity. That she'd turned his child on the command of a human slave ring that traded in Skinwalker children. Dean ended up saved and raised by the Hunter Bobby Singer, but what's a young pup to do when his foster father goes missing and the only one who can help him find him, is a Hunter who despises his kind and would kill him on the spot?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of child abuse, both sexual as physical, trade in children, non graphic depictions and mentions of adults raping children, non graphic flashback to the rape, abuse and dehumanization of a child
> 
> Much thanks to creepylicious and Mary Laws for the beta

The parking lot was filled with cars, old and new, some looked as if they were ready to fall apart, while others looked as if they could be featured on a car show tomorrow.

Dean slipped out of his truck, grabbed his cap and quickly pushed his feet into his boots. He latched onto the silver amulet at the end of his key chain, finding strength in the familiar burn as the object's shape hit flesh. He gasped, struggled to control his breathing as he checked the mirror to find the reflection of the teenage boy he wanted to be, looking back at him.

Once he had shut the driver's side door, he noticed another teenager sitting on the front step, messing with a knife. The boy looked at him and, for a moment, something about him - about his scent - felt familiar. Dean pushed the sensation down and opened the front door of the establishment.

The Roadhouse fell still as soon as Dean entered the room. Most Hunters eyed him with barely hidden disgust, while others looked up as they noticed the change in tension.

"Who's that?" a distant voice asked.

"Singer's dog," came the roughly mumbled answer.

Dean ignored them as he walked up to the bar; if stares were loaded with silver, he'd have been dead a dozen times over. He’d been here before, but every other time, he’d had his father with him. Bobby Singer’s name meant a lot with these people; he hoped it meant enough to keep them from killing him now.

“Singer.” The woman behind the bar said.

Dean remembered his father calling her “Ellen”. She ran this bar, along with her husband.

Resetting his baseball cap and pulling his jacket closer around him, Dean tried to ignore the scents of gunpowder and cheap metal in the air. He was seventeen and he could do this. More than that, his father needed him to do this. “Bobby’s missing, ma’am,” he stated clearly, not daring to look her in the eye. “I… Did he tell anyone where he was going?” Had Bobby come here looking for information? Had he been on the hunt for something, or someone, he didn't want Dean to know about?

Dean knew that Bobby often tried to protect him, both from Dean’s own urges, as well as from other Hunters. Except he would never be gone this long, not without sending news along to Dean. A note, a card, a phone call, something. Anything. Bobby would never be this neglectful for long stretches of time. Dean stood unmoving as he sensed the presence of several of the hunters approaching him. He tried not to react to them, but the hairs in the back at his neck rose in alarm. Either way, he kept his hands in clear sight on the bar counter.

“What are you doing here, doggie?” One of the Hunters snarled through broken teeth, Dean caught a whiff of his breath, it was almost enough to make him puke..Willis, Dean remembered his name, Bobby had mentioned it a few times, usually during phone calls that ended up with the phone’s hook getting smashed down to end the conversation.

“Yeah, where’s your owner?” A second voice continued, coming from a younger man with slick dark hair and dressed in jeans and a leather vest as if he were trying to be James Dean. The guy would have looked pretty if not for the hateful glare in his eyes as he pushed on the brim of Dean’s cap to send it flying to the ground.

Dean had to resist the urge to growl; he knew he couldn’t do that. Not here, especially not here.

“Leave the boy alone, Willis.” Ellen requested, glaring at the men.

“Oh, come on, Ellen, you know as well as I do that this -thing- ain’t no boy.” As the man pulled out a knife and moved the flat of a silver blade over pale skin, leaving a red rash where the metal touched, Dean tried not to cringe as he heard, “It's a monster.”

“The kid’s Bobby’s, Bruce.” Ellen countered with a lift of her chin.

“And that makes it okay for it to march right in? As if it belongs? Simply be'cuz Bobby's a soft-hearted id-git who couldn't bring himself to kill the creature when he had a chance?”

Dean forced himself to count down from a thousand like Bobby had taught him. He couldn’t fight here, because he knew he would lose. If they killed him, there would be nobody left to look for Bobby.

“Singer’s a puss-i-fied, lilly-bellied monster-lover who shudda put this -thing- down years ago.”

That’s when Dean lost it.

Turning around in one swift move and shoving the man to the ground, Dean hissed, “ Never!... Insult!... My Fa-ther!” If it weren’t for years of training, he would have morphed shapes, charging forward to rip the bastard's throat out.

For a second, it didn't matter that it was him – one lowly Skinwalker against a bar full of Hunters. Just one single moment... until he felt the barrel of a gun against the back of his head. He closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet to come, begging Bobby’s forgiveness for failing him like this.

 

 

*******

 

 

The bullet didn’t arrive; Dean could smell the rancid stench of piss as a dark stain erupted around the man’s bulge. Dean froze for a mere second, growled and pushed the idiot out of the way. He was Bobby Singer’s son and his father had taught him better than this.

The gun was never removed from the back of Dean's head as he got up and swiveled to face Ellen. “I’m not looking for trouble. Something happened to my father and I want him back.” Knowing she was probably the only one in the bar that was on his side, he knew he had to get her to help him. It was the only thing that had made him come here in the first place.

“Put down the gun, John. The kid’s right.”

The end of the gun felt cold; Dean figured he could grab the stock, moving the barrel before the bullet ran through his head. Only, it wasn’t the only gun aimed his way.

“Singer might be missing."

“And I should care about Singer, why?”

“You really oughta, John. The last time I heard from him,” she was looking directly at the man behind Dean now, not at Dean, “he was going after a Skinwalker trade ring. And that kid you’re aiming a gun at is probably your best chance at finding them.”

Dean could hear the man cock the gun, so he didn’t move. He wondered if this “John” would go searching for Bobby after killing him. “Did he say anything else?” Dean inquired on the off-chance he'd get a response.

Bobby had always been on a permanent mission to hunt down the men who took Dean – who had turned him, making him into a monster. He didn't like Dean to come along on those trips, thinking the whole thing was too dangerous for him. But if they had been the ones to take Bobby, then it was Dean’s fault, and Dean’s responsibility to get him back. After all, wasn’t that what most children would do for their fathers?

“Just think about this, Winchester, this is Singer’s son you’re about to shoot.”

Winchester? Dean’s heard that name before, when Bobby was talking to other Hunters and didn’t think Dean was listening. John Winchester was a Hunter known for two things: hunting demons and his utter hatred towards Skinwalkers.

They said the man would kill any Skinwalker he met, that he wore a necklace made out of Skinwalker teeth. That he once killed a Skinwalker that sat eating in a diner in the middle of a crowded morning and didn’t care who saw him. Dean knew for sure that that last bit was crap, no Hunter would be that stupid, but that didn’t mean the rest of it had to be.

It was a surprise to them both when the bullet didn’t come.

 

 

*******

 

 

John barely even bothered to look at the monster as he led it outside to the Impala, “My car.” The thing dared to say.

“Leave it. Get your stuff and get in my car in two minutes. “ John didn’t bother to say what he’d do if the thing decided to be a pain about obeying. He wasn’t even sure what he’d do. He wished it wouldn’t look so much like a kid. He pointed at Sam to join them as the monster went up to the truck, opened the door and grabbed some stuff together and threw everything he could grab in one sweep in an old duffel bag. It stood next to his car mere seconds later, looking about the same age his son would have if it weren’t for a monster just like this one. John wondered if it did that on purpose, even knowing that Skinwalkers only had one shape to shift into.

John wished he knew what he was getting into; he should just kill this thing now and get its eventual death over with. But as Ellen kept saying, Bobby Singer had a lot of friends in the hunting community. There weren’t many who’s life hadn’t depended on the guy’s expertise at least once. If Singer was missing, then he should be found. And if it meant John had to put up with one piece of dog’s breath, so he could take out an entire pack of those monsters, then it’d be worth it.

Besides, there was no reason one of his silver bullets couldn’t miss its target later on and ‘accidentally’ take out Singer’s dog as well. Even if Singer might not realize it right away, John would probably be doing the old man a favor in the long run.

“Sam, I expect you to stay with Bill and Ellen for a few days.”

“Dad.”

“This could be dangerous.”

“But you said I could go along on your next hunt. You promised.” The boy was giving him that look reminiscent of when he was four and John would refuse to stop to get him ice-cream, as if he were the worst father ever, if he didn’t give in right this second.

“Sam!”

“Dad, you can’t expect me to stay with Aunt Ellen and Jo while you’re off all alone with that monster. Somebody needs to watch your back.” Sam seemed so damn small, yet so serious, convinced he was right and looking far wiser than any kid his age had a right to be.

John froze, because he knew Sam was right. Unable to turn his back on the Skinwalker, he’d be forced to be on constant alert. With Sam along, at least John would have an extra pair of eyes.

“Alright.” Sam jumped up in joy, fist raised in the air as John went on, “But you do as I say, and you never turn your back to the dog. Got it.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

The Skinwalker was staring at its feet, pretending he hadn’t heard a word they said, which John flat out knew was a lie.

“I said to get in the car.”

“And my bag?”

“Drop it in the back.”

The thing was, at least, trained enough to obey, putting its bag on the back seat - next to Sam - before climbing in to ride shot gun.

John would rather have had Sam next to him, but he certainly would never let that thing sit behind him. He wouldn’t be able to keep a proper eye on it that way. “When did Singer disappear?”

The Skinwalker seemed unsure for a moment, as if it was unclear at whom the question was aimed. “Two weeks ago. Usually, he calls in every few days at the least. I tried reaching Rufus, but he was off on a hunt of his own.”

“Rufus Turner?”

“Yeah, he watches me sometimes, when Bobby needs to be gone for a while.”

Turner was a grouchy piece of shit. But he was a good man, and a good Hunter. Rufus also wouldn’t have had a single problem taking the Skinwalker out if he thought it had killed Singer. There was always the chance that the thing had killed both its owner and its sitter, but John doubted that. It didn’t seem to be that smart. If it had been, it wouldn’t have been stupid enough to show its face within miles of a Hunter’s bar.

The Skinwalker seemed to be about seventeen - eighteen at most – with dirty-blond hair streaked with wisps of light brown and a pair of deep green eyes that made John think of a happier time, before he’d lost everything years ago. The intense feeling of sorrow made him hate the thing even more.

The lanky, hunched-over frame was dressed in a t-shirt and stretch pants, loosely tied boots on his feet, a black collar around his neck, some kind of thick set of earrings in his left ear and that damn baseball cap back on its head. Anyone who didn’t know what they were dealing with, would think it was just some dumb punk kid.

“What’s up with the collar?”

“Bobby figured that if we got split up and I got caught while changed, it’d be best if people knew how to reach him. It has his contact information on it.”

Of course it did.

The Skinwalker sank backward in the seat. It wasn’t small for its years, but the thing looked too damn young just sitting there.

“Ellen said you know about this ring of Skinwalkers, so talk.”

The thing – a mere boy -, closed its eyes as if it hurt just reaching back for the memories. “They found me when I was a kid.” It started. “I was little and they took me, threw me in a room with a Skinwalker. When they came to get me out, I wasn’t human anymore.”  
John let every word sink into his head. They had changed children, which probably made it easier to recruit than going after adults. It was better to think that way, reasons, motivations, anything not to feel sorry for the little boy that had been pretty much murdered and replaced by this… thing sitting next to him.

“After that, they sold me and I ended up in a mansion with four other Skinwalkers. Master liked to take us to underground fights; shifters, walkers and vamps. Whatever they got their hands on, they’d make them fight one another to give the audience a show. I was too young, but Master liked to start our training early, so we’d know what we were up against later on.“

“That’s where Singer found you?”

“Some of the others had attacked trespassers on Master’s grounds. Dad – Bobby - came to check things out. He killed the others, but he took me with him. He said I was too pathetic to kill.” There was a sense of fondness in the young Skinwalker’s voice. “Dad knew I’d never be human again, but he gave me a chance. I owe him.”

“This ring,…”

“Bobby never caught up with them. He would hear rumors, end up finding tracks in the area, but by the time he’d catch up with them, they’d have moved on.“

John wasn’t sure what he would have done, if he would’ve found the Skinwalker brat, instead of Singer. He’d have probably shot the thing before it had a chance to become a threat. Instead, Singer had chosen to raise him, from a small mongrel to the thin and lean but well muscled young man that now sat in his car. He’d have to find some chains by the time they found a place to stay. Not like he would allow it to walk around while they were sleeping, who knows what it could do to Sam. Its kind had already shown their willingness to damn children to their fate. He wouldn’t allow one of them to do that to his son as well.

Sam sat in the middle of the backseat, playing with the zipper of the Skinwalker’s bag.  
John noticed that the green eyes kept throwing looks at the mirror, staring at Sam, while its fingers played with the ashtray. But one glare from John kept the thing from mouthing off.

Maybe the reason that Singer had never gotten close to the Skinwalker ring was because he’d been too obvious as a lone Hunter; an outsider clearly there only to take them down. If one entered the place with another Skinwalker in tow – especially a young pup like this one – the savage beasts might think John was one of them, letting him close enough to take them all out. It was also one more reason to keep the damn thing alive long enough to use it to get in past the door.

It would never bring his son back; Dean was gone and John had accepted that years ago, once the cops had shown him the blood covered rags that were all that was left of his once golden boy. But maybe one day, if he managed to destroy every last piece of supernatural slime that stood for everything that had taken his wife, his little boy, he might be able to let go of the pain and be the father Sam deserved.

 

 

*********

 

 

Winchester was nuts. What did he think Dean was going to do? Attack the only people who might help him find Bobby? Dean cringed a bit as the silver chain hit skin, before trying to find a better position to curl up into the tight space in between the toilet and the shower. When they’d arrived at the motel room Dean hadn’t really expected the man to let him have one of the beds, but that didn’t mean the bastard had to chain him up in the bathroom. To be fair, the man had let him use the toilet first, and he hadn’t tied the chain directly around Dean’s neck, but had attached it to the collar surrounding his throat.

The silver still stung like hell.

“You could at least let me have a pillow!” Dean yelled at the door, not really expecting a response. He lay down on his back, trying to ignore the silver chain attached to the collar around his neck. Or the other end of it hooked to the bathroom sink. If he could get his hands on the chain for more than a few seconds he could probably get enough of a grip to pull it free; but not now. It burned just being this close to the silver.

Winchester hadn’t even left Dean any of the towels to tie around the chain. He could use the bathmat, but then he’d be lying on the cold mildewed tiles. Dean wasn’t quite that desperate. At least he could change; he managed to kick off his boots while thinking about getting rid of his pants as well. Winchester might complain, but Dean knew he’d be a lot more comfortable with a bit of fur between him and the cold than he was in human form.

Dean had no idea what the man thought he’d do if he was allowed in the living room with them. Yes, he was a monster, he realized that all too well, being kicked out of the warmth of a comfortable room hurt. He was part human after all too.

Half an hour later, the door opened again, it was the boy – Sam - Winchester’s son. The kid was holding a pillow, the damn thing was paper thin, but Dean was about ready to beg for any kind of comfort.

Dean managed to catch the pillow thrown at him in mid-flight. “Thanks.” He muttered.

The boy didn’t answer, he just kept staring at Dean.

“Take a picture.” Dean said, making himself as comfortable as he could manage, “it’ll last longer.”

“Is it weird?” the kid asked.

“Is what weird?”

“Being a monster?”

Dean thought about the question. “I don’t know. I don’t remember being anything else.” Which wasn’t quite true. He had the occasional flash of a kind woman singing to him, or being scared of something hot and sometimes - quite often- he remembered something being pushed into his arms and being told to run. But those were mere flashes - there one second, gone the next.

“You told dad they turned you when you were a kid. How old were you?”

Dean tried to remember. “I don’t know. I was little, younger than when Bobby found me.”

“Why would they turn a kid?”

Dean sat up and looked at the boy, a pretty kid, dark brown hair, innocent. “You don’t want to know,” he whispered, because he sure wished he didn’t know a thing.

Memories were a hard master to serve, and Dean knew that if he tried to remember the past, he’d have to remember the time before Bobby as well. And that way lay all the shades and nightmares he didn’t really want to think about, hands going places they shouldn’t, being told to sit, or lay, …

“Master wanted a pup he could train. See, the older the dogs, the more bad habits they come in with, the younger the pup, the less work an owner has to do to train you up right. “

And the more things Dean had to unlearn after Bobby took him in, like finding out he had the right to refuse, like knowing that certain things - certain touches - were wrong and no matter how angry Bobby might get, Dean would never, ever have to let his new master lay hands on him to make Bobby happy. Those lessons had been the hardest of any of those Bobby had to teach him.

“But what about school?”

Dean grinned at that. The kid couldn’t be that stupid, could he? Even Bobby knew better than to send a monster off to school, especially after the time a Hunter had been bugging him and Dean almost killed the bastard for grabbing his tail one time too many. After that incident, Bobby had locked him up in the shed, leaving him for a night, before sitting him down to talk. He hadn’t said a word in the first half hour, just looked at Dean with pain in his eyes.

Disappointed, and Dean knew he’d let his father down, knew that his father might have to kill him. And it would be his fault for making him do it.

It didn’t matter that Walter had been after him for hours ever since he had caught Dean in the middle of a change, while Bobby was working on his case for him. It didn’t matter that Dean kept being pestered , teased with a silver chain and promises of what would be done to him if Dean wasn’t a very, very good dog. All that had mattered was that Dean had nearly killed a human being because he couldn’t control himself.

Dean had begged Bobby then, telling him he’d do better, promising he’d be better and for Bobby to please forgive him. And Bobby had, telling him it wasn’t his fault. But Dean knew it was. He hadn’t been good enough and Bobby lost a friend because of it.

After that, everyone knew Bobby had a Skinwalker running around his house. It didn’t matter that no one ever saw him change again, all that mattered was that Walter had spread the news. And it had killed Bobby, how many people looked down on him after that. All because of Dean.

So no, Dean hadn’t been to school. How could he, if on any given day, a kid might push him an inch too far and end up bitten because of it. He could read and write, speak several languages and do math, anything Bobby could find to teach him. But school, that was for human kids, not for monsters like Dean. If there was one thing Dean understood, it was that.

He huffed at the thought of Bobby finding out he called himself a monster, Bobby hated it when he did that, he always told Dean that he might be a freak, but he didn’t have to be a monster. Dean didn’t see the difference.

“School is for humans, not for mongrels like me.” Dean answered before turning away. He had to try and sleep, find some way to make himself useful, find his dad. It was all that mattered in the long run.

“We’re going out for food later. Do you want me to bring you something?” the kid asked. Dean had known the boy was still there. The scent had been a dead giveaway, but he’d tried to ignore it.  
“Surprise me.”

The kid finally left after that.

Dean had tried not to listen to the conversation in the other room, had tried to ignore the crackle of the television as two half heard male voices argued about cards. He could hear the scratching of pen on paper. He realized he hadn’t paid enough attention when the main door opened and for a moment he could hear outside sounds like cars coming from the freeway or a lone bird marking its territory. He was happy he was starting to recognize the sound of the Winchester’s engine when it set out to leave. Dean managed to fall asleep, for a while, haunted by dreams of chasing cats that turned into monsters and a blond woman singing “Hey Jude” as she burned. He did wake, hearing keys hit the door and sat up, wondering how he missed the Winchester’s car coming back. Dean found himself struck by an unfamiliar scent; a woman, probably a maid. The stench of citron mixing with vinegar, made his eyes tear up, he wished he couldn’t smell the day old bread on her cart as it screeched when she pulled it into the room.

“Hello!”

Dean could hear her cheerful voice, she didn’t seem to wait for an answer, before he could hear her shuffle around. He couldn’t let her see him. Much as he had and still did hate the chain, the fact was that he needed John Winchester. If this woman screamed, calling attention to them - hell if she called the cops - he’d lose what last bit of help he had found. Dean managed to push off his pants and turn right before the light hit the room as she opened the bathroom door.

Dean pushed his paws across his eyes against the sudden brightness, growling softly at the intrusion.

The woman simply froze. “Oh my god!” And here came the screams. “You’re adorable!”

Uhm. Rottweiler, full-grown one, thank you.

Dean knew he was a vicious yard dog, not an adorable lapdog. He had outgrown that stage, right?  
“Did your owners leave you all alone, you poor dog. “ She was petting his head, while she checked the tag on his collar before he could make even the slightest move of alarm. Was this woman brain-dead or something? He was a strange big dog, with huge teeth, didn’t she realize she was playing with her life?

“Singer, is that your name?”

Dean lifted his head in response, she seemed to take it as an answer.

“Please tell me they at least left you something to drink?” She left the bathroom after that, leaving him to sigh in relief, only to come back with a plastic bucket from her cart that she quickly held under the shower head. Cleaning it out, before she filled it with water and placing it in front of him.

Dean hadn’t even realized how thirsty he was before she did it. When she started rubbing his belly as well, her hands pushing over and under his shirt, he suddenly had a new all time favorite human. Yes, there, just there… his mind kept saying as he rolled on his back to make it easier for her.

“Who’s adorable? … yes, you are - yes you are.”

And Dean forgot everything for a second, forgot he wasn’t really a dog and simply enjoyed the sensation. So much so, that he missed it when the Winchesters’ Impala arrived and both father and son entered the room.

When he did notice Winchester’s glare Dean quickly pulled away from the woman as far as the chain would let him. Which admittedly wasn’t far, but hey, he was trying.

“What are you doing here?”

“Maid services,” the woman said. “No one was in here, but I noticed that poor Singer here didn’t have any water, so I thought I’d give him some before I continued my work.

“Thanks, now get out!”

The woman didn’t let the man out-glare her though. She might have been tiny in comparison to Winchester, but underneath her gray hair and hunched back there was apparently a spine of iron.

“You do realize that it’s midsummer, don’t you sir? And leaving an animal in this heat without at least a bowl of water could be considered animal abuse. “

“I’m sorry ma’am, Dad told me to do so, but I forgot.” Sam quickly spit out, looking embarrassed as any teenager should when he forgot to fulfill an important task.

“Pets are a huge responsibility, young man. You wouldn’t want your dog to get sick, now would you?”

“No ma’am.”

She left, still untouched by John Winchester’s anger, pushing a pair of towels in his way. “Have a nice day, sir.”

Dean waited for the door to shut before he immediately changed back, still half naked.

Nudity had stopped bothering him long before he ever met Bobby Singer. “What? It’s not like I could let her find me chained up like that if I were human, now could I?” He wasn’t even expecting a response as he turned towards Sam. “So did you get me something?” The kid threw him a burger and Dean barely managed to force himself to stop and remove the wrapper before he bit in.

Dean still felt warm and cozy after the earlier belly rubs; he took one last sip of water from the bucket before turning his eyes back to John who was clearly trying to pull himself together. He wondered why he hadn’t been screamed at yet; it would feel more like being on safe ground if Winchester just let go of the rage.

“Get your pants back on,” the man growled out before unchaining Dean. Dean licked his lips and obeyed. Humans, he’d never fully understand them.


	2. Chapter 2

Carter Willis sat down in his car, glaring at the front mirror. He hated waiting, he especially hated waiting when it wouldn’t end with him being able to shoot something. But he also knew that he wasn’t the type of guy women liked to talk to. For some reason they always seemed to start looking for doors and ways out when he came near them. Not that he cared what women, or anyone else, thought of him, because he wasn’t some “sissy”, dressing up in froofy outfits to impress a chick who wouldn’t know a good man when she saw one. If they couldn’t take them as he was, then to hell with the lot of them.

Bruce on the other hand, had to throw them a smile and he had them eating out of his hand. If it wasn’t so damn useful, it’d be revolting.

Willis started rolling up something to smoke, just as Bruce got out of the gas station shop. The kid came up to him, rolling one of those new agey anti-cancer sticks, that made Willis scratch his head in confusion.

“Well?” Bruce looked at him in expectation.

“Winchester passed here, all right. The old turd still had the ‘walker with him.” Willis answered, talking to the old man sitting in the shadow next to the shop had told him that much.

“Damn. Surprised he hasn’t killed the little shit yet.”

Willis had to agree on that. Winchester was a cold son of a bitch, showed little or no mercy for anything. It was something Willis could respect the man for, if Winchester hadn’t stolen the dog right from under his hands. It stuck in his craw, that did. Seeing the Skinwalker ride off with the likes of Winchester after the way the thing had humiliated him in front of everyone that mattered.

“It’s not like the thing’s going to live much longer Willis. Not with Winchester on the job.”

And Willis got that. Winchester wasn’t like Singer, he wouldn’t let the dog run loose. Once it served its purpose, it’d go the way like all the rest of its kind.

And that’d be a darn shame.

It wasn’t that Willis wasn’t pissed off at the thing, and he sure as hell wanted to kick the shit out of the ‘walker when he found it. But that didn’t mean he wanted the dog dead. In fact, seeing the Skinwalker stand up for its owner like that, only made him want it more than he had before.

Willis was close to sixty years old, yet he couldn't remember a time that he'd been without a dog for more than a few months. Ever since he was a kid up in the hills, most of his life had been spent around thugs, on four as well as two feet. But taking a dog out on a hunt was risky. They worked well when a man went up against a monster, up to a point. Except, there was only so much they could tell you. Only so much they could do for their master. And they died so quickly.

Willis was just so sick and tired of seeing his dogs die on him, at times it seemed like they were the only thing in the world that gave a damn about him.

And then he found out about Singer and his dog.

Singer had raised a Skinwalker , a dog that could back him up in a fight and could then go and get his owner a drink at the bar when needed. A dog that could only be killed with silver. And Willis had to admit he’d wanted one of his own since he first saw Singer bring the young ‘walker into the bar two years ago. He’d seen the loyalty the critter showed to Singer, the way it looked to its master for answers before taking a step out of line. Willis had thought about finding a Skinwalker of his own, but most of them were wild, more eager to go for your throat than to let you put a leash on them. Fucking shame that Singer wouldn’t even consider selling his pet.

“That dog ain’t gonna listen to ya, Willis,” Bruce had told him then.

Willis didn’t care. If an old coot like Singer could get that dog to follow his orders, then there was no way that any son of Old Man Willis wouldn’t be able to do the same.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We follow them, see what Winchester’s planning, and then get him to hand the dog over to me when he’s through with it. “

“You think he would?”

Willis could hear the scorn in little Brucie’s voice - still thinking he knew better. “No reason he shouldn’t. It’s not like he’s attached to the thing like Singer was.” And what was up with that anyway?

“Aaaall right,” Bruce said, clearly not all right with any of it. But it didn’t matter.  
They’d meet up with the Winchesters tomorrow, see if they could help out with that Skinwalker ring Winchester was so worried about. And then when Willis had the chance, he would simply jump in and get himself a new dog. He could hardly wait.

 

 

******

 

 

His father was worried. But then, when wasn’t his father worried?

In between the constant check in calls while Dad was on a hunt, or the demands to know where he’d be when, whenever the man 'was' in town, Sam couldn’t help but struggle against his father’s motherhenning.Sam loved his dad, he really did, and he knew the man loved him and just wanted to keep him safe. But sometimes it left him so smothered that he wanted to do nothing more than run away and be rid of it, for a few days at least.

Sam stretched out on the bed, he felt … uneasy. He shouldn’t even think about the Skinwalker locked up in the bathroom, but he couldn’t help the sense of guilt crawling up on him as he sank down on the way too soft mattress. It was like an itch that just wouldn’t stop bugging him until he grabbed the pillow from his bed and marched up to the bathroom. Dad looked up from his journal and rolled his eyes, but Sam couldn’t stop himself. Yep like those mosquito bites, that you knew you should stay the hell away from, but God, they drove you out of your mind, until you finally gave in and let go.

And like with the bites, afterwards, when he closed the door and sat back down, he knew he shouldn’t have done it. It had been one thing to tell his father he needed someone to watch his back, but quite another to think of the gun in the short of his back, and having to use it on the boy who seemed only a few years older than him. It was miles away from helping his dad with a ghost –they were already dead to begin with – or to watch the perimeter while his father went after Wendigos.

But the Skinwalker looked so … normal - human even. There wasn’t anything about him that screamed “monster” at Sam. Even when they’d gone after that werewolf two years ago, it had been attacking them and grabbing for his gun to defend his father had seemed like the natural thing to do - the right thing. It was a whole other thing, looking at a chained up kid, and thinking of having to kill him, murder him.

Sam tried to distract himself with television, but he was almost happy when his father took them out for food.

Anything to get away from the room and the creature locked up there.

“Is something wrong, Sam?”

Sam hadn’t even realized how silent he’d been until the words were spoken. He shook his head and concentrated on his food. “It’s just weird,” he finally said, five minutes later. “I know he’s a monster, but… it feels like we’re the bad guys, locking him up like that. All he wants to do is find his dad.”

His father grabbed a napkin and wiped off some of the sauce that had gotten stuck on his chin.  
“It’s not too late to go back to Ellen, Sam. I won’t think any less of you, if you can’t handle this.”

Great. The ‘understanding dad’-speech, including the look. As if Sam was too immature to do the job, or too naive to be trusted. Combined with that longing look that his father tended to get every time he fled back into the past to think of how better things could have been. As if he just knew that if his oldest son hadn’t died, “he” would have been able to handle any situation they might have gotten into. “He” wouldn’t have been too weak to do the right thing and back up his father when needed.

Sometimes Sam hated his older brother, the one his father refused to talk about, the one that still ruled most of their life even though he’d died over a decade ago, long before Sam was even able to talk. How could he ever hope to compete with the ghost of John’s perfect son? The one that had looked after Sam, when John hadn’t been able to do so. The one that pulled Sam out of a burning house when Sam had been no more than a baby. The one that smiled so nicely at his mother, giving the best hugs and that got peanut butter and crusts cut off of his toasts.

Everything that John had a hard time reminding himself to do for Sam, and that he sometimes wished he could go back to.

And then Sam would hate himself for being jealous of this boy, whose name dad couldn’t even say without breaking down half way and tearing up, because his older brother was dead and gone. And Sam wasn’t. It was difficult to remember that at times.

“I’ll be fine, dad. I just have to keep remembering he isn’t human."

“Sam, you can’t trust that thing, or turn your back on it. I know it’s tough to imagine, but it really isn’t human. Monsters like that thing, killed your brother. Singer might think it’s tamed, but it isn’t – an animal can be trained, Skinwalkers may look like animals, but they aren’t. In the end it’ll show its true colors and try to kill people. It might even think it’s doing it to protect Singer, that it just wants to look after its master, while really it just wants the feel of flesh beneath his teeth. Because that’s what things like that do, they pretend to be harmless, sometimes even to themselves, they hide out as dogs so that people let them get close, and then they attack. They can’t stop themselves, it’s their nature.” Dad put down his knife. “It’s not like with werewolves. There’s not a human and a monster in there; that thing’s all monster, all the time. It might be behaving right now, but that won’t last. The best thing we can do for the boy the Skinwalker used to be, is to kill it before it gets blood on its fangs. That is the only kind of mercy we can afford.”

Sam nodded, it's not like he hadn't heard the same thing before, and continued munching on his salad, picking through the lettuce until he’d gotten all the carrots out.

“I just don’t get why they’d turn a kid? It’s not like a kid could be a threat to anyone.”

“I’m guessing you asked it this question already?”

“He said I wouldn’t want to know.”

His father looked away after that. “He might be right. Some things, Sam, are beyond evil. “

“Like getting sold?”

“Far as I can see, these Skinwalkers figured that the easiest way to get their kind spread out and into people’s homes, was to use people’s desires against them. Get them to think they’re in control. All the while those monsters get new recruits served to them on a silver platter. The kids learn to hate humans while they’re with these “masters” and then once they’re old enough, and their owners lower their guards, they kill the master and move on to the next home.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t how Sam had imagined it, but then he wasn’t his father and Dad knew a lot more about these kind of things than Sam did.

"Save your pity for the kids that are kidnapped by those monsters, Sam. They’re the only innocents in this mess."

By the time they got back to the motel, Sam was holding the extra burger that his father had ordered for the Skinwalker. He had startled, having to stop himself from running when he noticed the door to their motel room was open. Oh shit, housekeeping. Both Sam and his father had forgotten to put the “do not disturb” sign on the door.

Sam was standing right behind his father when they saw the woman in a maid’s uniform sat next to a dog. The Skinwalker looked just like the kind of dog Sam used to want to have when he was a kid -big ears, and what might have passed for a smile if the face were human, with a short stubby tail wagging between its hind legs.

It was still wearing the Skinwalker’s shirt; A chain hooked to the collar was still attached to the sink.

“What are you doing here?” His father demanded.

Sam stood back for a moment, thinking about grabbing his gun, before the Skinwalker could put its teeth in the woman’s throat. She was so close to the dog, that Sam expected her to be killed any second now.

“Maid service,” the woman said, turning to them with a look of disapproval. “No one was in here, but I noticed that poor Singer here didn’t have any water. I thought I’d give him some before I continued my work. “

Singer? Where--? Then Sam remembered the tag; it probably had Bobby Singer’s last name on it. It was as good a name as any for the Skinwalker. In fact, it was almost easier to think of him like that.

“Thanks, now get out!” His father didn’t seem to care much about names or manners. He just wanted the woman out, before she was at risk of becoming Singer’s next meal. Not that she seemed to have a single clue to the danger she had been in.

The maid was an older woman, about his father’s age, maybe slightly older - late forties, early fifties - with a gigantic mole on her left cheek. It was weird to be fixated on that as she faced off with his father. “You do realize that it’s midsummer, don’t you, sir? And leaving an animal in this heat, without at least a bowl of water, could be considered animal abuse? “

And that’s when it hit Sam, the gigantic bullet they’d just dodged. If that woman had come in, and found a kid sitting there, chained up, the way - the dog was now - she wouldn’t have bothered waiting for them to get back. She’d probably have called the cops on them already. So he did the only thing he could do, stepping in before his father got them into even more trouble. “I’m sorry, ma’am, Dad told me to do so, but I forgot.” Better for Sam to take the blame, to be seen as the careless teen who needed to be taught a lesson.

“Pets are a huge responsibility, young man. You wouldn’t want your dog to get sick, now would you?”

Looking at the dog, pushing away from them all, Sam could almost think it really was a dog. Just a helpless creature that he’d abandoned without a second thought, it was enough to make him blush in shame.“No ma’am.”

She left, still untouched by the eldest Winchester’s anger, pushing a pair of towels in his way. “Have a nice day, sir.”

Singer waited just long enough for the woman to leave before his skin started rippling. Sam had to hold in his lunch at the sight, hearing bones snap and skin rustle over tightening muscles. Sam couldn’t help but wonder if it hurt the Skinwalker to do so. The way it had to stretch intestines, handling the transformation between the two shapes and how it all worked.

“What? It’s not like I could let her find me chained up like that if I were human. Now could I?”  
Sam wondered why the Skinwalker had even cared enough about what happened to them. But then if it really wanted to find Bobby Singer, it probably felt every bit of help was needed. Probably even more so than Dad needed the Skinwalker.

Singer didn’t even bother waiting for a response from Dad, turning to Sam instead. “So, did you get me something?”

It was only then that Sam noticed the boy was sitting there still half naked. He quickly threw him the burger and took a step back, getting out of the room as quick as possible. He heard Dad mention something to Singer about getting his pants back on, but Sam was too busy trying to erase the image of the dog turning into a boy. Inhuman, monster … the words seemed so trite at first thought. But they were real, weren’t they?

Singer wasn’t human. He might walk amongst them, for now, but he wasn’t one of them. And he never would be.

Sam fought the urge to shake, the desire to ask his father if he could just call Uncle Bill and get him to come pick him up. But he couldn’t do that. Not now, not to his father, not now that he knew exactly what they were dealing with. Seeing those jaws bite into what was left of the hamburger, Sam couldn’t help the shiver at the thought of imagining those same teeth biting into the poor woman that had just left.

But damn, Singer looked adorable as a dog. It almost made Sam wish he had taken a picture.

 

 

*********

 

 

Bobby listened for sounds while he tried to free himself from his cuffs. The damn pin he’d been using had broken off, leaving him with a half messed up lock that was even harder to work on than before.

He wasn’t even sure when or how the bastards had managed to grab him. One moment he’d been walking out of a bar after asking questions about a guy he’d spotted last time he’d been looking around. And the next he’d woken up in total darkness.

The room was dark, wet, smelled like someone dug up a grave and didn’t bother to cover it back up. Which didn’t really soothe his nerves, thanks for asking. His hands were chained behind his back and he had a hard time even sitting up on his knees, trying to get up.

The Hunter had to give up on trying to find anything to free himself when he started losing the feeling in his wrists.

He blinked when the door shrieked as it opened and light flooded the room. It blinded him and froze him for a moment while several men came in and grabbed hold of him before releasing his chains. He struggled, he even got in a few good kicks, but none of it mattered, their grip was too tight and soon he found himself dragged along on up the stairs.

He was forced on a chair, with his hands pulled painfully behind his back. He stared up at the people surrounding him. Six men, two women, dressed in hoodies and sweat shirts and in one of the girl’s cases, a tight black dress that showed off every curve of her body. They all had one thing in common, they all smelled of dog.

It wasn’t that noticeable, if you didn’t know what you were looking for, you’d probably miss it. But Bobby had spent too much time with Dean not to know exactly what it meant. Skinwalkers, six of them, and that meant he was in deep deep shit.

One of them reached over to him, smelling his breath, Bobby felt he owed Dean an apology, at least the boy understood about brushing his teeth. “Where’s the boy?!” The man whispered in a craggy voice. Bobby kept his mouth shut, he’d die before betraying the boy to these things.

“I don’t…”

The Skinwalker hit him in the face, knocking him backwards. “Don’t lie, human. I can smell him all over you.”

All right, that was the last time he let Dean borrow any of his clothes. But with the boy’s latest growth spurts, letting him use his own stuff at times had only seemed convenient.

“Oh come on.” Bobby muttered. He was hit again, this time he fell to the floor, one of the women leaned over him, pulling him up by his shirt.

“The boy, where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sharp nails cut into his cheek. “Where ..is … the… boy.” She said, dragging out every word.

“I don’t…” She kicked him back, chair and all until he hit the wall.  
Bobby was dazed for a second, but didn’t flinch as two of the Skinwalkers changed to their dog form while the others surrounded him; the same question, over and over, but he couldn’t answer, he had to protect Dean.

 

 

********

 

 

 

Questions, a rapid fire of them, kept streaming out of his lips while the monster in front of him just withstood them. He didn’t get angry, didn’t rage, didn’t even try to attack. He just listened and answered. It only pissed John off more. In the end, all he got out of it was the name of a bar. And the worst part of it was that the thing in front of him hadn’t even been trying to fight him.

John had wanted the Skinwalker to be lying, to say something, anything that would go in against whatever crap it had been telling to make Sam feel sorry for it earlier. But even that hadn’t worked. Instead he had to fight the urge not to feel sorry for a young boy taken from his family and turned into a monster. The only way he kept away the sense of pity, was by separating the boy that had been and the creature that now sat on the bed in front of them.

“This bar you mentioned, would it still be in use?”

Singer’s dog had said that the dogfights tended to change locations, but bars, like the one mentioned, stayed in use to guide participants to the arenas of the month.

“Probably, I’m not sure. But even if it isn’t, someone there might tell us where to go next, right?”

For a moment, John wondered if the dog was looking for approval.

John turned around, away from the boy and looking at his son who was sitting at the desk behind him. Sam had been quiet throughout the interrogation, it almost made John wonder if he was sick. It wasn’t like his son not to have an opinion.

“So when are we leaving?” Sam finally asked.

John closed his eyes, “’We’ are heading for the bar this evening, ‘you’, are staying at the motel.” He raised his hand before Sam could interrupt. “I need you to call Bill and Ellen if something goes wrong and I don’t get back on time.”

It looked like the dog wanted to say something as well, but stopped himself as soon as John glared at him. After that it got up and went to the bathroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” John growled at it.

“I figured you’d want to lock me back up again?”

“And let you out of my sight?” John hissed in response.

The dog raised his hands in defense, but kept quiet.

It didn’t meet John’s eyes, looked away when John glared at it. And John couldn’t help notice the stains on the boy’s shirt. Dark red brown, flushed out, but still there. Sauce, ketchup, anything could be the reason for it. But all John could think of was a shred of a t-shirt the cops had given him years ago. A child’s t-shirt stained in red and browns, torn to pieces.

“I’m sorry, sir” The cops had said as he held the fabric in his hands and they told him his son was gone. “I’m sorry, sir.” They told him when they couldn’t find the dog that did it. “I’m sorry, sir, you can’t be there.” As he’d broken into the house where they found the shirt and had found the first trace of the thing that took his boy.

“I’m sorry.” The dog said and he slapped it in the face, forcing it to the floor. John didn’t even care what the thing was apologizing for.

“Dad!” Sam’s voice sat in the background as he stared at the Skinwalker and wondered why he let it live, why he didn’t just kill it already and got it over with.

The monster crawled up. Its head bowed down.

And John closed his eyes, ‘this isn’t the thing that killed Dean’, he reminded himself, making it a mantra in his head. He knew he should apologize, knew he should say something, knew he shouldn’t have hit it, it hadn’t done anything to deserve it. But he couldn’t make the words come out, instead he made a quick command.

“Get on the bed and sleep, we’re leaving in four hours.” And then he turned away and got back to his journal. Anything not to have to look at the monster’s human form, and see it shaking in fear. It was just a monster, just a thing,

He tried to ignore his son moving up to the bed and whispering to the dog, asking it if it was OK, worried for its sake. God, what was happening to him? He had to get a grip on himself. “This isn’t the Skinwalker that killed my son.” He whispered to himself, knowing that Sam hadn’t heard him, but the Skinwalker had. And it looked at him with pity.


	3. Chapter 3

Willis wasn’t even sure what they were waiting for. They could just head up to the door and talk to Winchester. For some reason Bruce seemed to think they needed to wait. Wait for what, Willis didn’t know, Bruce wasn’t a complete idiot and he didn’t bother Willis too much with accounts of his hook ups, so Willis figured he might as well let the man have his way, just this once.  
Winchester’s car had just returned, sitting there in the bright light of the afternoon. It was one of those old American cars, pretty to look at, but hard on gas mileage and maintenance. Willis much rather had his own truck, it wasn’t attractive, but then neither was he, and it fit him perfectly.

He wished he knew what was going on in Winchester’s room, but they hadn’t been able to get that close. Winchester would have spotted them the second he saw them. Not that that should have mattered. They were Hunters, all three of them, that ought to mean they were all on the same side, but then, these days, what did any connection like that mean anymore?

The door of Winchester’s room slapped open and the boy came running out. Not the dog, Winchester’s brat. Willis kept watching as the kid ran up to the car, kicked its tires and then sat down, back up against the wheels. The boy seemed pissed off about something and Willis wondered what it was. Winchester stood in the door for a moment, staring at his brat.

“Sam.” He said, cold, calm.

“Just leave me alone, Dad, I can take care of myself.” Defiant, Willis knew if he’d ever talked to his own father in that tone, he’d have gotten his ass handed to him on a platter. Winchester instead stayed in the door, before closing it, leaving the boy outside in the sun.

It made Willis wonder what the hell was up, and then the door opened again and Winchester came back out, closing the door behind him, locking it for good measure before he headed up to his son and sat down next to him.

“You didn’t have to hurt him, Dad, he wasn’t doing anything.” Willis could hear the boy’s voice in the silence.

“You’re right.” Winchester’s low voice answered “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Then why did you dad?”he was talking quietly now and Willis had to strain to hear a word.

“He upset me. “

“But why?”

“When your brother died, I… I was lost for a long time, Sam. Because it was my fault. I got drunk, I sent him out of the room, I told him to leave me in peace and he was taken because … because I wasn’t there.“

The boy tried to protest, but Winchester stopped him.

“Finding out what it was that took Dean, finding that Skinwalker skulking out at the place where they found the remains of those children, it pulled me out. It tried to talk, tried to seem human, as if it somehow were as much of a victim as the children it tore to shreds. I didn’t let it finish. I killed it. And then I swore over the burning shreds of its corpse that I would hunt down every last Skinwalker I found and destroy it. “

The boy didn’t even seem all that interested, as if none of this was new to him. It probably wasn’t.

“Being in the same room with that thing, seeing it act as if it’s human, it disgusts me. “

“Because it makes you think of him as a person?”

Winchester didn’t answer, it was obvious that even the things he had said were an effort, something he’d forced himself to do. Willis couldn’t blame him, talking was something girls did, not men. Hell Willis' own father had never said more than five words to him in a row. That wasn’t how you said you cared, you didn’t explain, you just did. And Winchester obviously lived by the same idea.

Willis stared at them both, but even trying to hear anything else was lost in the sounds as cars started speeding by and Winchester had already headed back inside before the silence returned. Leaving the younger one sitting outside in the sun. Willis kept an eye on him to be safe. A kid that age shouldn’t be alone in a place like this.

The boy stayed behind, even as Winchester came out, the Skinwalker right behind him. Singer’s dog got into the shotgun position as soon as Winchester ordered him, he was dressed slightly different from how he’d been at the Roadhouse. Gone were the jacket and the extra layers, instead all the boy wore was a shirt and jeans, sneakers with zippers on its feet and that hat that hid his disheveled hair. He looked like a child, a deadly child and it only made Willis want him more.

 

 

**********

 

 

Dean was scared. He wasn’t afraid to admit it. Coming to a place like this, heading towards a dogfight, all that belonged to a different life. A life he’d left behind him when Bobby found him, it was only for Bobby’s sake that he was doing this.

Winchester led the way into the bar and Dean followed behind him, a respectful step or two behind him that is. He took a deep sniff, and caught a scent that crawled down his spine and made him shiver. Far too familiar, forcing him to remember. He kept his head low, respectful, obedient and it was only when he spotted the origin of the scent that he stopped for a moment, waiting for Winchester to look at him, before he pointed the way with a nod. No words, not from him. They’d expect Winchester to punish him for the affront if he dared to speak in public. And what kind of dog would he be, if he offended his master like that in public?

The man stank, not just of cheap booze and cigarettes, but of blood and fear. Winchester went up to him, ordering Dean to stay put with a glare. When the man asked something, John pointed at Dean. Dean took of his hat, holding it in his hand, as he lowered his shirt, showing off his collar.

Dean had to fight the urge not to sink down on his knees and show his neck.

The stranger said something to Winchester who just ordered Dean to follow. They entered a small office and Dean could smell the scent of other Skinwalkers on the mat in front of the desk. He looked at John for orders first. Good dogs waited for orders.

“Tell it to heel.”

Winchester slapped his thigh and Dean quickly knelt down beside him, his head still bowed, his fingers wrenched around his hat as if it were a security blanket, he wished he could nibble on it, it’d make him feel better even if Bobby would tan his hide if he found teeth marks on the lining.

The man came closer, Dean had to fight the urge to run, no idea what was so horrifying about the man, he hadn’t even said anything to him yet. But his scent, along with those eyes, it made him remember something, threatened to drag him back to the dark time and he fought the urge to get lost in pain to hide from it. Instead his muscles froze up.

The man grabbed Dean’s face and forced him to look up. Dean did so, opening his mouth on command and allowing the man to check his teeth as his hand touched the markings in his ear that were barely covered up by his earrings..

“How many fights has he been in?” The man asked.

Winchester was still glaring but answered: “None. I only just got him in a poker game, its previous owner wasn’t much interested in watching it fight.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” The man’s hand brushed over Dean’s hair and down Dean’s neck, Winchester grabbed the hand before it could get any further.

“Are you always this grabby with other people’s property, Donald.” The name was said with such total disdain that it made Dean worry that they weren’t getting out of here alive. Well… Winchester wasn’t. Dean doubted he’d get out that easily.

Instead ‘Donald’ broke out laughing.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to mess with it, much.” He walked around Dean, his hands moving across the muscles of Dean's arms. “I’ll need a picture of its true self. For the adds, people like to know what kind of dogs they’re betting on.”

“Singer, change.” It was the first time that Winchester said anything even approaching to Dean’s name, so it took him a second longer than he intended before he got rid of his clothes, the hat falling on top of the heap, and transformed. He went back to heel position as soon as the last bits of bones had finished reshaping.

“Well what do you know, it’s as pretty on four paws as it is on two. Are you sure you want to risk it in a fight, I know more than a few people who’d pay good money to have it bred with one of theirs.”

The very thought made Dean nauseous, but he had to remain calm and let Winchester call the shots. Winchester wouldn’t be part of something like that, he wanted to kill Skinwalkers, not make more of them. Dean forced himself to remember that, he had to, to stay calm and keep playing his part. Winchester’s one track mind was almost a comfort. God, he needed to put his teeth in something.

There was something wrong in the bar, he only just now started noticing it. It was always harder to spot a lack of sound, then the start of one. But the bar had gone quiet, no chairs scratching the floor as people got up, no people talking, just the music playing in the background. And then it started, crashing.

Dean wanted to tell Winchester that something had happened. He reached out to Winchester, but it was already too late and the door of the office fell in . Winchester made a grab for his gun, before he realized he didn’t have it with him. Donald saw who came in, two men, four dogs and made a run for the door in the back. Winchester was right behind him. Dean stood frozen for a moment, staring at the attackers for a moment, before looking back at Winchester.

The dogs surrounded him, snarling and growling. Dean’s own growl rumbled out, before he yipped.  
“We’re not your enemies.” One of the men said, reaching his hand out to Dean. Dean growled one last time before taking a jump over one of the dogs, missing a snarled snap at his paws before he jumped through the window and out of the room.

They didn’t come after him, he stopped for a second, trying to find out what kept them from following him. The man had his hand raised and was looking at him. Dean’s mouth opened, his nose lifted. They felt like home. Dean kept running.

 

 

********

 

 

 

John grabbed Donald out of the way before he fell into the claws and teeth of the Skinwalkers waiting for them outside. Donald threw him a card as he pulled some small glass orb out of his pockets. He threw it to the floor, breaking the glass and the very stench of it spread the room, leaving the Skinwalkers gasping for air. John could see him running for the door, while he looked back, wondering what was keeping Singer’s dog from joining them, in the end he couldn’t care and got out.

It was one thing to deal with humans, but if any of the Skinwalkers found out who he was, they’d tear him to pieces on sheer principle. He’d killed enough of them that the mere mention of his name had many of them scrambling for escape.

He got to the car and grabbed for his gun, seconds before the Skinwalkers following him did. It was then that he saw the Rottweiler he’d arrived with running up to him. He raised his gun, ready to shoot the thing if it had betrayed him. But instead it attacked the Skinwalkers before they got to John, shielding him from their teeth.

John got into the car and opened the window, yelling at Singer’s dog to jump in. It did, landing on the seat, its claws messing with the leather, but John was already hitting the metal and getting out of there. He didn’t notice the Skinwalker was bleeding, until it turned back to its human form. The red gaping cuts standing out against its pale white skin.

Neither of them had thought to grab the creature’s clothes before they ran out, leaving John to wonder how the hell they were supposed to explain it if they got stopped on the way.

It took almost half an hour before he felt safe enough to park the car. The engine fell still and he sat there for a moment, his hands on the wheel, while the Skinwalker shivered in the cold. He figured they’d gotten far enough and got out. The Skinwalker didn’t move as he opened the trunk, grabbing first a blanket and then a med kit. John knew Skinwalkers could only be killed with silver, but that was no reason to have the seats ruined with the thing’s blood.

He told the dog to hold still while he bandaged its wounds. The cut wasn’t too bad, but it was still bleeding. He threw it the blanket once he was finished with the bandages, but didn’t bother saying a word as the dog seemed unsure what to do with the blanket. Finally it wrapped itself up in it and got into the car, looking at him as if silently asking if it had done right.

It was quiet as they drove back to the motel, too quiet for John’s tastes. The Skinwalker sunk into the chair. And as the landscape past by them in the dark, John could almost imagine another boy that used to sink into the car like that, trusting it to lull him to sleep while Mary and John prayed for a good night’s rest.

John was almost grateful when the phone rang, waking the monster out of its doze. He stared at the name, Sam, he had no idea why his son would call him so soon.

“Yes.” He said, unable to help the annoyance that slipped in, unable to let Sam know that it wasn’t him he was pissed off with.

“Dad, I need you back here.”

“Sam look we… “

“Dad, two guys came in after you were gone.”

John was almost glad he hadn’t stopped driving, turning instantly back in the direction of the motel while waiting for Sam to continue.

“Are they still standing?” John asked, meaning ‘are you ok, did they hurt you?’

“Barely,” Sam whispered, “I got a shotgun on them.”

Good kid, John had no idea how to tell his son just how proud he was of him. But he knew better than anyone to think that meant his boy was safe.

“I think I recognized them from the Roadhouse. They said they needed to talk to you.”

Hunters. John couldn’t help but worry. Sam didn’t know it, but John still remembered the last time Hunters had come after his boy, how he’d killed every last of the men that had dared threaten his child. He’d shielded Sam from that, but if even one had survived and spread the word about his son’s possible future…

“The guy that got his ass kicked by Singer, and a friend of his. They said they wanted to help with the hunt.”

John almost sighed in relief.

“Tell them to get out of the room and wait for me in the parking lot. If they’re anywhere near you when I get back, they’re dead.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam turned off the phone and John waited for the Skinwalker to say something. He knew the thing had heard both sides of the conversation.

“Got anything to say?” John barked out in command.

The Skinwalker looked away, “Want me to tear them up a bit when we arrive?” The dog said with an amused tone underpinning every word.

John couldn’t help but be amused by the idea. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He had to kill that thing, he was more sure of this now than ever, because if he didn’t, he might actually start liking a monster. And he could never allow himself to do that.

 

 

*********

 

 

 

Bobby woke up when something or someone grabbed his face, lifting it up and forcing him to stare back at them. The man was saying something, but Bobby couldn’t understand a word of it. Bobby felt fingers tugging at his shirt, he tried to bat it off, but realized his hands were still locked behind his back.

He tried to open his eyes again, struggling to do so. The guy handling him was younger than he’d thought he was maybe sixteen, eighteen at most. He’d be tiny even at sixteen. He was walking around the room, a redheaded whirlwind that went from grabbing stuff to grabbing Bobby himself and removing the bits of the broken chair that Bobby had been tied to before someone had thrown him against the wall, chair and all.

He nearly screamed in pain as the boy’s hands touched his chest. Damn bastards had broken his ribs.

“I’m sorry,’ the boy whispered, “I’ll try and be more careful.” The words finally became clearer. It was only then that Bobby noticed the boy had been putting some kind of ointment on his ribs, and that the kid was trying to clean off the blood.

“Wh… What?”

“I’m sorry, Cody said I could make sure you’d be ok. “ Bobby stared at him. “Cody’s our Alpha.”  
It was then that Bobby realized the kid was another Skinwalker, a young one, like Dean. It made him worry what the bastards were up to, and what they wanted Dean for. It just convinced him more that he couldn’t let them find out where he was keeping the boy. There was no way he’d let Dean fall back in those scumbags’ hands.

“What’s your name?” Bobby managed to ask. The kid looked away,

“Sugar,” the boy answered, and froze at his own response. He seemed hesitant as he continued before Bobby could stop him. “Only Cody says I don’t have to answer to that anymore. “

“Do you want to?”

The boy seemed to hesitate. “No?” Quiet at first, then stronger, “No! It’s a bad bad name. It’s a pet name and I’m not a pet anymore.” The boy gained in strength as he continued talking. “And they can’t make me.”

“So then what’s your name?”

The kid smiled. “Cody said I got to choose. I think I want to be Alex again, but I’m not sure.”

“Alex, that’s a good name.” Bobby said before coughing up blood. “Was that your name before you got turned?”

The boy shivered, looked at the door and nodded.

“You like talking a lot, don’t you?” The boy’s smile turned into a snarl and Bobby quickly raised his hands. “Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s a good thing to talk.”

The boy looked at him, he seemed unsure whether he should trust Bobby’s words or not.

“Cody says I can talk if I want to. And that no one can tell me otherwise.” Then he added conspiratorially. “But I know he thinks I’ll talk his ears of, so I try not to overtalk when he’s around.”

“That’s nice of you.” With the headache that the kid was giving him, Bobby almost wished the boy would stop talking now, but this was probably his best bet to get any information and at least a chance of getting out.

Another smile from the boy, who helped Bobby sit up.

“Did Cody say what he was going to do with me?”

Bobby hoped the answer wasn’t to eat him, but it wouldn’t be impossible, if the pack was hungry and they didn’t think they could get any more information from him, what else where they supposed to do with a captured Hunter?

“Cody just wants to know stuff,” the boy answered, remembering for a moment he probably wasn’t supposed to be this nice to the prisoner.

“What stuff?”

“Like where the Skinwalker is, that you smell like?”

“And why would he want to know that?” Bobby wondered about that question, why a packleader would want to find Dean. Didn’t these Skinwalkers have any pride, or was their master’s hold on them that strong?

He simply couldn’t imagine Skinwalkers themselves wanting any of their own kind to be enslaved, unless they were trying to use it as a way to get in. Something didn’t fit.

“Cody wants to free our people.” Alex suddenly said, interrupting the Hunter’s thoughts as he was trying to clear his head. Bobby’s head settled against the wall even as the boy let go of him to stand up. “He wants to stop people like you from hurting people like us. Because we’re not pets and we shouldn’t be.”

But if these were the guys who’d taken Dean, then why would they care about letting the boy know this? His head was getting woozy, maybe this was the other side, once the recruiting was over, once the Skinwalkers had learned to hate humans, get them some confidence before sending them after human prey. But then what was the point of letting Alex help him out. Even now the boy didn’t seem to be filled with hatred.

“I didn’t…” Bobby tried to say it, hoping to make the boy understand before the grown ups returned. “I didn’t hurt Dean. I never would. He’s not my pet, he’s my son.” The words came out broken, slurred, and pulled out of his throat as if pulled out by toothpicks.

He saw Alex’s eyes as he looked at him, not believing him, but staring at someone behind him. It took an effort of a life time to look back and see him standing there. The guy the other Skinwalkers had been deferring to.

“Liar.” Was all the man said, deep dark eyes that made you think of a puppy, even without knowing he was a dog in his other form.

Bobby coughed, feeling blood drip down his cheeks.

“Cody, I presume.”

The Skinwalker was on him before he could move, forcing his head to the wall. Alex tried to say something, to ask something of his alpha, but Bobby’s head was too scrambled up to catch the words.

 

 

 

*********

 

 

Sam had been working on his summer reading when he heard a sound. He quickly got up and grabbed for his colt that was under the pillow. He left the knife behind, he could make a grab for it if he had to. There it was again, scratching, as if someone was messing with the lock. Sam quickly ducked between the two beds, it was impossible to roll under the bed, the damn thing was sealed shut with one of those pull out shelves that could be used to put linen in. He pulled the shotgun out of the shelf. Best to be sure he had a backup weapon.

The door opened, and a guy marched in. Rough scratched up face, full with a wild beard that half hid a scar covering his cheek. He was quickly followed by some guy that looked like a gangster. Slicked up hair, wearing a suit that made him look cheap and a bulge that clearly hinted he was hiding a gun under his jacket.

Sam stayed hidden, maybe they’d just leave if they didn’t see anyone inside. But the men didn’t leave, the first guy started looking at the notepad next to the phone, while the other one started looking through dad’s stuff at the desk.

It was as the man turned around that he suddenly spotted Sam in between the beds. He was about to say something when Sam shot up, shotgun in his hands.

“Don’t move.” He yelled.

The first guy tried to say something, “Shut up and freeze.” Sam said, repeating the second. Mister Slick tried to get closer and Sam aimed the shotgun his way.

“You messed with the wrong room.” He said, trying to sound like Dirty Harry as he said it, praying his voice wouldn’t break up as he did so..

"Look, son, we'll just..."

“Don’t call me son.”

“Sam…”

“How do you know my name?” He grunted out. He needed to sound tough, dangerous, he needed to be like his dad, he needed his dad.

“We’re Hunters.” Scar guy said. “My name’s Carter Willis, we just wanted to talk to your dad.”

“And you thought you needed to break into our room to do that?” Sam couldn’t believe these guys thought he was that stupid. But then these were the idiots that figured it’d be OK to mess with John Winchester’s stuff, so who knows what else they’d do?

“We just wanted to see if he was working on the same thing, I swear.” Mister Slick tried to step a foot closer again, his words a clear attempt to distract. Sam quickly turned the shotgun his way. He didn’t need to say anything, the message was clear.

“Now just put down that gun before I fucking grab it out of your hands, you brat.” Scar guy, or Willis as he called himself hissed. At least he wasn’t pretending to be all nice.

“Take one step closer and I’ll scream.” Sam yelled. The man rolled his eyes. “The clerk here might be an idiot, but even he would come running if he knew a kid was getting attacked.” And they had neighbors, unless it had been these guys, then someone would have to hear something and come running, right?

Mister Slick seemed taken aback by that, trying to pull his friend away.

“Look, just call your dad, I swear, all we want to do, is talk to him.”

Sam hesitated. If he did as said, dad would know what was going on, but it would distract him. In the end he had no other choice. Willis growled a bit, while Sam did his best to keep them under fire. In the end he repeated his father’s words, telling them to wait outside or his dad would shoot them.

As soon as they got out of the room and Sam had locked the door, key as well as key-chain, he sank down on the floor between the beds, gasping for breath and desperate for his dad to arrive. He had to fight the urge to throw up.

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

Willis could see Winchester coming from up the road. He rolled up another cigarette, lit a match on the side of the car and took in his first gulp of smoke, just before the car stopped in the middle of the parking lot. He had to fight a cough, but he didn’t care what those fucking doctors said, he wasn’t going to give up one of the few pleasures he had in life. He stared at the cold black monster car in front of him. Winchester got out first, Singer’s dog followed right behind him. Willis wondered what had happened to the boy’s clothes. Was Winchester some kind of pervert, if he were, it’d almost be a pleasure to shoot his ass and get the dog away from him. That was just sick.

He let Bruce take the lead before he spat out his disgust at the other Hunter, staring back at the motel room. Winchester’s boy was staring out the window, and ducked back out of sight as soon as he spotted Willis looking his way. Willis turned his attention back to the elder Winchester, a smirk on his face as he dealt with a man that liked to have the reputation of being one of the scariest motherfuckers on this side of the continent.

Willis wouldn’t mind giving him some competition for that title.

Bruce though, he seemed a bit more weary. Showing his empty hands as if trying to show his neck to the beast before they’d even crossed paths. It made Willis wonder why he even put up with the guy.

Winchester stood there silently, staring at the two of them. “You’ve got ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t kill you bastards, right where you stand.”

“We can help you.” Bruce jumped into the conversation, or what was supposed to pass for one. “You’re after those Skinwalker recruiters, right? So are we, we just thought …”

“Thought? You were actually thinking when you broke into my room and threatened my son?”

“Oh for God’s sake, we didn’t threaten the brat. We didn’t even know you left him behind.” Willis grumbled. “I figured you took him with you when you left.”

“You think I’d take my only remaining son, my thirteen year old son, into a situation that could get dangerous at any second?” The disbelief was almost solid. And as he stated it like that, Willis couldn’t help agreeing that it had been stupid to even think otherwise. It was only then that he saw a flash of red on the Skinwalker’s flesh before the dog pulled the blanket closer around him.

“Well, it’s not like I thought you’d go right after the bad guys on your first time out.” He muttered. “What kind of a moron goes after a bunch of monsters like that on his own, without even a thought of back up?”

Singer’s dog rolled his eyes at him. It was one of the first things Willis would have to train out of him. It rarely worked, but it was always worth a try.

“And you expect me to trust ‘you two morons’ to watch my back.” Willis just shrugged, he didn’t see the issue, they had the same goals, so why not?

“What? Did you get any better offers lately?”

Winchester glared and Willis knew they had him. The man didn’t like it, that was as clear as the light of day, but Winchester knew as well as the rest of them that going up against a pack of Skinwalkers on your own was a direct ticket to an unmarked grave or the garbage once they were through having lunch on your entrails.

“Stay the fuck away from my son.”

“I’m not a kiddie fiddler Winchester. I wouldn’t touch a kid that age with a ten feet pole and even with the long hair, he’s not nearly girly enough for Brucie here.” Unlike you, he couldn’t help but thinking, wondering whatever the hell had happened to Singer’s dog that it left him naked and wounded. It might be a dog, but it looked too much like a human boy to leave it running around like that.

In truth, Willis could respect Winchester’s kid. Not that he couldn’t have taken him if it came down to it. But it took guts to stand up against two grown men like that, with nothing more than a shotgun in your hand to protect yourself.

So he got up, threw the still smoldering butt into the sand and crushed it with his boot before offering Winchester his hand. Winchester didn’t even pretend he hadn’t noticed it.

“Well I tried.” Willis mocked at Bruce before heading to their room. “See ya tomorrow Winchester, and then you can tell us all about your little trip today.” And let me know if I should shoot you in the balls or not.

He didn’t even wait for Bruce to get in before slamming the door shut behind his back.


	4. Chapter 4

When Bobby woke up, he was tied to the chair, again. He glared up at the Pack’s leader, their Alpha.

“You shouldn’t have lied to the boy.” The shifter said. “He’s been lied to enough in his life.”  
Bobby started in on another round of coughing, before he could answer.

“I wasn’t lying.” And for a moment he wondered what their game was. He didn’t know enough, but he wouldn’t let them have his son.

“I know your kind…” the shifter growled, mentally on the verge between man and dog. Bobby shivered , but tried to stare straight in his eyes. “Sick and disgusting, treating children, even your own kind, as if they were Burger chain toys, ready to be thrown to the trash as soon as you’re tired of them."

Bobby faced the Skinwalkers, staring at those eyes, speaking out the very feelings he’d had about the men who’d taken Dean, and then sold him to be used by the scum of the earth. It was the tremor in the Skinwalker’s voice more than anything he actually said, that made Bobby realize he’d made a mistake.

The Skinwalkers had nothing to do with the trade ring and right now they were going to kill him for the very crime he’d wanted to murder Dean’s tormentors for. It almost started a giggle that burst out of his pained throat like bursts out of a hot water geyser.

Cody was about to hit him, coming close to shredding him to pieces with his bare human hands when Bobby was finally able to bring himself under control again.

“I’m not one of them.” He finally managed to say when he could bring the giggling to an end. “I was hunting them as well.”

Cody froze.

“Those bastards you’re after, I was hunting them, so I could kill them, for what they did to my Dean.”

Cody hung closer, his nose practically touching Bobby’s skin. If he were any more doglike, Bobby would expect his tongue to fall out of his mouth and start slobbering. Bobby had to stop himself before he started giggling again.

“You’re lying.” Cody tried again, but Bobby could see he was half convinced already, fighting the desire to give in and admit he’d been wrong. "We followed the boy’s trace to a trader hot spot, one of your ‘friends’ was trying to use him to get into the dog fights."

Bobby froze, "What? No. Dean’s at home, I left him at home." And that’s when Cody finally let go of him, taking a step back.

"He was there.” He went to a bag lying on the stairways at the entrance of the basement, and pulled out a hat, a far too familiar hat. It was one of Bobby’s that Dean liked to "borrow", Bobby could see the fabric of one of Dean’s favorite shirts sticking out as well. “Some guy brought him in.”

“What guy?” Bobby demanded.

“Big fellow. Dark hair, cropped black beard, strong face. Went by John.” Bobby shivered. “We know him. His very scent is a warning to the Packs, I’ve traced it myself in nests of my kind as my people’s bodies lay cooling in their own blood, downed by his silver.

“Winchester.” Bobby whispered, terrified for Dean now. “Damn idiot,” he grumbled out, thinking of his boy, his Dean, “What the fuck does he think he’s doing? He’s supposed to stay away from that bastard, the guy’s a psychopath.”

Their eyes met and it was then that Cody started giggling as well. Bobby almost feared he’d gone as mad as a hyena, but instead he just stood there.

“You really aren’t with them?”

“I’m not with them.” Bobby repeated, becoming scared now for his Dean and whatever-the-fuck the kid thought he was doing. He wondered how Dean could have been so stupid. As if there hadn’t been a reason he’d made sure his son never met Winchester before. As if there hadn’t been a reason why he’d never tried the trick of using Dean as bait to get into one of the dog fights. It was too dangerous. If anyone in the trade ring recognized him - if Dean got hurt, or worse, killed - he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself.

But Winchester would have no such concerns. He’d use Dean up, throw him to the wolves and then set out to kill him and every other Skinwalker in front of him. Even if they were as much victims as Dean was.

“We’ve got to stop him. Winchester will kill them all.”

Cody nodded, his finger turning into a claw as he used it to release Bobby from his ropes. No apologies for tying him up, beating him or leaving him a mess, just a slow hand to help him up. “Not if we find him first.” The Skinwalker said, almost carrying all of Bobby’s weight as they went up the stairs. “We’ve already tracked them down to their motel room.”

And Bobby knew he should be worried for his fellow Hunter, knew he shouldn’t be siding with a bunch of monsters over his fellow humans. But this was his only child’s safety that was at stake and that meant he wouldn’t give a damn if these Shifters killed Winchester and tore him to shreds. All he cared about was finding Dean, so he could ground him for life for being stupid enough to let himself be used by a human monster like Winchester. He thought he’d taught his son better than that, Dean did know better than that, and Bobby was never going to let him out of the house again until he was sure that the boy knew exactly not to risk his life for whatever reason he thought he had to.

But first they had to find them, and he hoped and prayed that the shifters noses were right on track.

 

 

******

 

 

Dean was shivering, John had thrown him his bag as soon as they got in, but Dean still missed his hat. Sam smelled like vomit, but Dean didn’t have it in him to tell the kid to please go brush his teeth already. Not after dealing with a break in like that. Dean grabbed his jacket, grateful he’d at least left that one behind when they went to the bar. His feet were still bare, and he hadn’t thought to pack a spare set of shoes.

Sam was staring at him again. Dean had to fight the urge to ask him to stop. But better not to bark at the boy, like barking at a bear cub, while its momma was in the same room.

“How much do you know about those two?” Winchester finally asked him. Dean was almost surprised to actually be addressed. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. 

“They’re Hunters. Dad knows them, but he doesn’t like Willis much.”

“Why?”

“Willis’ is too eager to put a leash on my collar. He’s tried to buy me from Dad a few times. Dad keeps refusing, but Willis won’t take the hint. That’s about it.”

“If he’d found you here alone, while I was gone, what do you think he would have done?”

“Probably? He’d try to steal me. Not that he would have succeeded, I’d have probably bit his ass if he tried.”

“What? Don’t want a new master?” John asked with a smirk.

“Him? Hell no, he smells.”

And for a moment, they laughed together, right before Winchester remembered what Dean was and got angry again. Dean quickly turned away from him.

“So - what? Are you going to tie me up again? If you are, could I please change first, that bathroom floor is freezing.”

Winchester didn’t answer right away, instead he got something that rattled - the chain.  
Dean closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself to be locked up, even as he was still shaking from the memories that had been hitting him since the bar.

“Give me your hands.” Winchester said.

Dean forced himself to comply. It wasn’t the same chain, instead it was a pair of shackles.

“There’s an extra blanket in the shelf under the bed.” Winchester added, Dean wondered what he meant with that, but then he saw Sam grabbing for the shelf and pulling out a thick red blanket that smelled like it had been puked on, but looked thick and fluffy. “You can sleep on that.”

Then Winchester attached the shackles to the heater on the wall, Sam quickly made work of putting the blanket on the floor, it was on top of a carpet, so it’d be somewhat softer than the floor in the bathroom. Sam gave Dean some sheets and the blanket from the car as well. Dean was grateful, that was probably the most comfortable he’d get with Winchester and he was glad for at least that much kindness as it was all that Winchester was likely to give.

The shackles had some silver in them, leaving faint marks on his skin, but not enough to keep him from sleeping. Just enough to remind him not to try and turn. He didn’t care and slept within seconds. He woke up in the dark, breathing harshly, and shaking as he remembered his master’s hands on his skin.

“Such a pretty boy.” The man had said as he left a trail of kisses down Dean’s neck. There had been a second voice, another man, but Dean couldn’t remember his face, just the scent, spices and ash and something else… but all he recalled of that man was his wide open legs as Dean had been guided between them. Dean had woken up just as the man had made him open his mouth in the dream and barely managed to keep from screaming.

“Go back to sleep.” He heard Winchester’s rough voice, but he couldn’t. The man had been staring at him as he slept and it only made Dean feel sick. He didn’t want to go back, he never wanted to see anyone involved in the dog fights ever again. Mostly he just wanted to go home, see his dad and work on his dad’s truck. But he couldn’t, not as long as his dad was missing.

Winchester had sat up and stared at him, then he took the blanket and covered Dean up under it.  
Dean had no idea what to say to that.

“Whatever happens, I won’t let those guys get you back. I’ll kill you before that happens.”  
It was what allowed Dean to finally fall asleep, feeling safe. His next dream was hunting, going after a rabbit and putting his teeth down, gobbling up its heart, blood and organs before he finished of its flesh. He smiled.

 

 

*******

 

 

They left early the next morning. Sam had wanted to fight his dad, to tell him that it wasn’t right to be left behind like this. But that meant going in against his dad in front of the two strangers and Singer. Singer probably wouldn’t care, but there was no way that Sam was going to embarrass his father in front of other Hunters. So he played the part of the good son - the good soldier - Guarding the home front while his father went out to save the world.

He was bored within minutes of his father leaving. He tried practicing his knife throwing, read a bit more in the lore book that Pastor Jim had given him last month and watched some more television. Trying not to admit just how scared he was now that his father was off like this.  
He lay down on the bed and tried to think, anything he could do to help his dad. He was pissed that he wasn’t even allowed to go to the library, in there he might have been able to find something on missing kids, get some more information on whatever Dad and the others were getting themselves into. The library might not have much, but if these bad guys took kids, he might have been able to find something.

Instead he was stuck here doing nothing. He just wished Dad would stop seeing him as a little kid. He was thirteen, that was old enough to help out on a hunt, he was sure of it.  
This time when the room was broken into, he had no warning. Two of them came in through the window, a third kicked open the door. Four dogs, two men, and two women. Sam went for his Colt, Dad had put some silver bullets in it earlier, just in case, but he didn’t get a chance to grab it before the first of the dogs was on to him, forcing him to the bed. It’s nose pressed up against his thigh.

“Let go of me,” he whispered, as he grabbed for the knife under the pillow. Another dog was at his throat, stopping him from moving.

Then another man stepped in. Stocky, dressed in fleece and with a trucker’s cap on his head. His movements were slow and Sam could see bruises on his face.

“Where is he?”

That’s when Sam realized who it was. The hat was kind of a big giveaway.

“Singer? He’s with Dad and the others.” He stared at Bobby, wondering what he was doing with the monsters. Were they forcing him to work for them?

Bobby Singer kicked against the bed. A loud damn it escaped his lips.

“We’ll find him,” One of the Skinwalkers said to the Hunter as two of the dogs shifted into their human form, their nakedness a clear attack on Sam’s nerves. Not that either of them even seemed aware of it. Singer had been like that as well. Sam was just happy that the two on top of him hadn’t bothered to change. That would have been weird.

“You’re Winchester’s boy, right?”

Sam nodded.

“How the fuck did your father manage to get my boy to go along with you. Dean knows better than that.”

“He was looking for you. Dad offered to help.”

The Hunter cursed at that. “Bloody fucking bastard Rufus. He knows better than to leave the boy alone like that. Where the fuck was he, letting the kid go up to a psycho like that.”

Sam tried to pull away, suddenly more scared of the human - hopefully still human at least - in the room than he was of the actual monsters.

He turned to one of the Skinwalkers, the one that had been a German Sheppard before. “Can you...?”

“Don’t worry, we can still track him.” The Hunter sighed in relief; the dogs pulled back a bit, while one of the human-looking ones grabbed Sam’s knife from under the pillow.

Another was staring at the blankets and the sheets on the floor where Singer had slept - Singer, or “Dean” as Bobby Singer called him. Then one of them noticed the shackles, growling at the sight. Sam was pulled up, forced to sit. The man in front of him seemed ready to kill.

“He’s just a boy, Cody.”

The Skinwalker closed his eyes, acknowledging the truth of that. Finally the man pushed Sam back on the bed, Sam raised his hands, desperate to protect himself.

“Give me those shackles.” And then before Sam could say another word, his hands were pulled behind his back and tied up with the shackles. Sam was just glad they were still pretty loose on him. “I should put some acid on them so you know what it feels like.” The man growled.

“Cody!”

“We’re talking him with us. He can be leverage against the piece of scum that sired him.”

Sam started trashing, trying to get away, but he was well and truly caught in between two of the Skinwalkers. Bobby Singer apologized with a look before joining the other Skinwalkers in the front, while Sam was taken to the back of the van.

He had to find a way out, warn his Dad. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one. It was only as they locked the shackles to a hook in the van that he suddenly realized something.

“Dean … Singer’s name is Dean.”

He was just happy that his father hadn’t known that, because there’s no way he wouldn’t have shot Dean if he had.

 

 

 

*********

 

 

 

Willis followed Winchester’s car from a distance. Bruce was on the phone with someone. Willis didn’t really care. Too busy concentrating on what lay before them. They stopped shortly before they got to a parking lot in the back of nowhere. Willis parked next to Winchester; he opened the window. “So what do we do?”

“You two keep on watch, follow me in, but don’t get too close. I take the Skinwalker inside with me. Let’s hope at least some of the bastards inside have leads on the rest of the group.”

Willis nodded.

The dog took a deep breath before getting out of the car. Its feet were still bare, but at least it was dressed. Willis had tried to ask Winchester about that earlier, about why the kid had been naked in the first place. Winchester had simply said the boy had had to change when they were at the bar they’d gone to. But that was no excuse for not letting him get his clothes back after.

They left the car, passing a few dozen automobiles, from cheap foreign cars to big American stand-ins for penis size and some of those sport cars that really only spoke of their owner’s suffering from mid-life crisis. They followed a couple, dressed in their fineries as the woman kept talking about some big black stud they’d seen last time. It took a few minutes before Willis realized she was talking about a Doberman-shaped-Skinwalker.

He watched as Winchester headed up to the doorman, the guy asked him some questions before waving him in to the back. Bruce was stalling and Willis turned to him. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”

Bruce just shrugged and didn’t answer. Willis couldn’t help a harsh grumble as he went up to the doorman as well. The guy stared at them, a gruff demand for an entrance fee. Bruce started muttering a protest, but got out his wallet. Willis hated wasting money as much as Bruce did, but it’s not like they couldn’t get it back after they took out the monsters in charge.

The place looked like one of those underground wrestling arenas, with the required cage in the middle of the room. Currently, the cage held a dog and a man, both of them collared. The man tried to go for the dog’s neck, but was quickly pushed to the floor. It was only as the man got up that Willis noticed the man’s wide mouth filled with shark fangs. Vampire.

He didn’t even wince when the dog tore into the vamp’s guts. The crowd was screaming for blood, demanding the shifter to tear the vamp’s head off. Both sides had men in the corner waiting anxiously, yelling at their fighter to go for the other’s throat.

Eventually, the dog was ordered to stop, while the vampire lay bleeding on the floor. Willis guessed it was too early in the evening for one of the fighters to be killed off.  
He noticed Winchester and the dog heading over to an office in the back, while a man with three boys on a leash made his way to the ring, taking a place, while his dogs settled on the floor at his feet, naked and displaying scars across their torso. One of them was extremely pale, while the two others settled in dog form as they knelt down.

What the hell was up with these people?

He fought the distractions and tried to get closer to the office, and see what was going on, when suddenly Bruce grabbed his arm. “Just stay put, Willis. This isn’t our fight.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Doing the smart thing for once.”

“What?” He turned around, facing his partner; the man seemed too sure of himself.

“I had a talk to someone earlier. He made a very convincing argument… all we have to do is stand back and do nothing, and we might actually earn some money instead of wasting it for a change.”  
Willis stood stunned. “We can’t leave Winchester on his own. What if those bastards get their hands on him?”

“They’re not bastards, Willis. They just want their property back. Winchester was just stupid enough to bring up the dog to the very guy that caught said dog in the first place.”

“What?”

“They’re not gonna kill him, Carter. If he’s smart, he’ll just take their offer and leave. It’s not like he’s any better than them. At least with these guys, the dog’ll stand a chance, get an owner that’ll stop him from being a threat to anyone innocent and won’t have to die.”

“You’re insane.”

“They’re offering us a job, Carter. Remember your dreams, about having one of those dogs for yourself? You could actually get one. They could get you a young one; a puppy that’ll be devoted to no one but you. And all you’ve got to do, is do what we’ve always done. We’ll just have to bring in the monsters alive and get paid for it.”

Willis stood stunned, staring up at the window, wishing he could hear what was going on in there. But any kind of ruckus was hidden in the noise of the crowd surrounding them.

“He’s a Hunter.” Willis tried. But it didn’t seem like Bruce was about to listen, instead he watched as his partner- his friend - pulled out a gun and aimed it his way.

“Don’t make me shoot you, buddy. Please, we could have all we ever wanted and stop monsters beside. Don’t be an idiot.”

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

Dean kept walking, even as flashbacks kept going through his mind. Seeing other dogs walking alongside their masters, as he had once done with his. Him and the others, waiting to see which one would be sent into the ring and hoping it wasn’t them. Dean had been too young of course, but he could smell the scent of fear and bloodlust on the others.

The smell of dead flesh pervaded the air as he saw several of the walking corpses lapping up to their masters, walking, begging with dead flesh and no heartbeats to give away their positions. They weren’t rotting, but they were meat, dead meat and the mere thought of that dead flesh between his teeth was nearly enough to make him drool.

One of the guards pointed them in the direction of the office and Winchester pulled his leash as if to drag him along. Dean didn’t need the reminder, except that he kept remembering before. Smells and touches, a slap in the face, a stick on his back and ass, hands keeping him down as the body on top of him pushed him into the mattress until it found its release and pushed him to the back of the bed, where he curled up to sleep, covered in fur. The eyes of the others as they vehemently didn’t stare at him when he came downstairs the next morning. A soft lick of a tongue, helping him clean up his furry body, friendly touches from the others, a rough bite from the alpha of the house when he went a bit too far as they tumbled over one another.

That scent, what was it, cinnamon? No something else, something specific, and then seeing him standing there, Donald. Seeing him wait as another guard closed the door behind them and the door fell shut with a sense of finality.

“Donald,” Winchester said.

“You know what’s funny, ‘John’” the man said, putting a clear emphasis on Winchester’s first name. Winchester just glared, but he did that all the time, “when you see a man come in with your own stolen property and hear him telling you not to touch other people’s stuff.”

Dean froze, looking in between Winchester and the guards.

“What are you talking about?”

“I used to have this friend, a good friend, a good client of mine. Every once in a while he’d buy one of my dogs and I’d advise him on which ones would fit him best. Of course he didn’t always listen, but this one time he made a very specific demand.“ Donald got closer to Winchester, staring him in the eye, before turning to Dean.

“See, normally, he got fighting dogs, he wouldn’t care too much what they looked like, as long as they were likely to grow big and tough. But as he got older he asked me for a prettier one. A dog that he could play with, raise to his hand and primarily want to take to his bed.

I had a few dogs in line, you know, nice enough kids, that’d make good pets. But I knew they weren’t what he wanted. Not really. So there I was, wondering how I’d have to tell him he would have to wait till the next batch when I see this little boy on a motel parking lot, sitting there, throwing rocks at a can. It was already getting late and I couldn’t help wonder. “Where are this boy’s parents, why aren’t they keeping an eye on this kid?” When the kid looks my way and I see his eyes, these gorgeous green eyes that could make a grown men melt in a puddle from the sheer adorableness in itself.“

“Just get to the point.” Winchester barked out.

But Donald didn’t seem to care what Winchester wanted. “Now I don’t normally grab kids from the streets, it calls too much attention to my operation. Hell, it’s the fastest way to get the cops to shut you down. Far easier to find people with a need, women desperate and on the edge, looking for some money, some drugs, something, anything. And make them an offer. I don’t lie to them, not really. When I tell them the kids will go to nice families, it’s the plain truth. The buyers will take care of their children’s needs, will feed them, clothe their human forms when needed and give them toys and attention that any child will crave. Many of these women, people, they’re almost happy to get rid of the kid.”

The image of a woman on fire kept playing through Dean’s head.

“Several of them have even called me back a few years later, when they have another kid to get rid of. My customers love those, when they can get a sibling of their first dog. The women get money, the kids get a home and everyone’s happy.”

Everyone except for the kids, Dean thought as he remembered that first collar, that first day.

“And if they don’t, well, all I got to do is provide an accident. A drug overdose, a car accident, just a poor unfortunate thing to happen. Who cares where the kid goes to afterwards with no one left to give a damn?”

The man’s hand on his face, staring into Dean’s eyes.

“But no, not this one. There were no parents around, no one to make a deal with. Just a lonely little boy, sitting outside a dark motel, out to be grabbed by anyone with the worst possible intentions. If I hadn’t taken him, someone else might have. Someone who didn’t care about keeping him alive and well. And he was just so perfect, still is.”

A hand touched his lips, Dean licked the man’s fingers before he could stop himself, hated himself for doing so. He wasn’t a pet anymore, he tried to remind himself. But there was this scent, this ever present scent.

“So I took him with me, he screamed, but that stopped as soon as I got my hand on his mouth, as I got him to the trunk of my car and left him in there. By the time we got home, he wasn’t even knocking at the car lid anymore, just sat up, his blond curls all ruffled and he looked at me with those tear filled eyes. It only set out those green eyes even more."

Winchester was shivering now and Dean wished he could just sink into the wallpaper.

“I grabbed him out of my car and he tried to fight me, as much as a five year old can fight. I knew then that I had a winner for sure. But I held on to his hands until he exhausted himself and then I took him inside. He was so scared as we walked past the cages with the other dogs, hearing them howl at him. I could have just thrown him in with any of them, and ordered them to do the job. But I wanted things done right, so I took him to the back of the kennels, to the oldest of my animals, the first Skinwalker I got my hands on.”

Dean remembered her, a big black snout, staring up at him as he was thrown into the room. He’d been so scared then, even as he realized now how gentle she’d been at the time.

“When I got him out of the room,… sometimes the dogs disappoint me. You get this gorgeous kid and they turn out to be some kind of mongrel, flawed and ugly. Sometimes they’re sick and deformed and you have to put them down, for their sake as well as my own. But this time, I knew I hit the jackpot as soon as I saw that gorgeous black head crawl out of the remains of the boy’s bloody clothing. Prettiest Rottweiler puppy I’d ever seen. Worth every bit of trouble he’d cause me afterwards.“

Dean didn’t even know why he felt so ashamed at the thought of causing trouble, he should have been happy for it.

“Brought the cops right to my door. I would have lost a whole set of dogs if a friend in the police force hadn’t warned me a couple of hours before they burst in. They were looking for a kid after all, not for some dog shelter. So I sent them to the backyard, said I’d been seeing tracks of a wild dog, maybe they’d find something there. I had to sacrifice my girl, my first catch. But she was getting older in years anyway, and I had plenty of others to take her place.”

Dean could almost feel the rage radiating from John Winchester, not sure what was going on with him, but scared the man would be even more pissed with him than he'd already been before.

“It can’t…” Winchester whispered.

“So I took those rags, not like the dog would need them, and threw them and the bitch in the old cottage, the cops saw her running out, fur still covered in blood and I didn’t even need to spell anything out for them. “

He started laughing.

“Some Hunter took her out a few days later, wish I could have sent him a fruit basket for that one, for solving my runaway problem like that.”

Winchester took a step forward, trying to make a grab for Donald, but two of the guards grabbed hold of him before he could do anything.

“So I took my new puppy, had him marked,“ his hand touched Dean’s ear again, the left over scars that had never healed up. “It’s not easy to do with Skinwalkers, they heal too fast. But if you put the markings in with silver and then use silver nitrate to cleanse the wound, keeping it open, the wounds remain, making it possible to recognize your dog, no matter what shape they take, or how old they get.”

All Dean remembered of that was the pain, screaming, howling as the cuts tried to heal, but couldn't.

“Best sale I’d made in years, you should have seen my friend’s face when I delivered his new dog. Don’t think the dog left his bed for the first week or so. But then I always make sure to put some training in those dogs before I sell them. It beefs up the price when the new owner doesn’t have to worry about his new purchase whining about wanting to go home, wanting mommy and daddy …”  
Sticks, feeling the sting of the stick whenever he tried to talk, begging for Sammy, please, Daddy and Sammy need me. Crying in his cage, howling as the stick hit his side, crawling out, belly on the floor, please no pain, please…

“If it were up to me, I’d just cut out their vocal cords, and get rid of the fuss, but some people like to hear their dog beg. To each their own I guess.”

Dean was trembling now as Donald pulled him closer, forcing his lips on Dean’s.

“I remember those lips, I knew what they were meant for, the first time I saw them.”

Dean wanted to growl, to slash, to run away, but he was trapped, lost. Oh God, Dad, I’m so sorry.

“And then a few years later, my friend dies. Some bastard broke into his house, killed most of his dogs and left and I thought what a shame it was, to lose that fine a dog. Especially after I’d finally managed to find a Rottweiler bitch that I could have bred him with as soon as they matured enough. I actually grieved for that loss, more so even than I did for my friend.”

He finally let go of Dean and Dean sank back as far away as he could manage without bumping into the remaining guards.

“I could have gotten rich on those pups alone.” Donald said with a theatrical sigh.

“I’ll kill you.” Winchester growled out, Dean winced away from him. But Donald wasn’t listening to him, too focused on his own monologue.

“And then you stepped in. This perfect dog in your tracks. I almost kissed you when I recognized him. I always remember my dogs, John. Always. And nobody tries to sell me my own dogs, especially when they stole them from me in the first place.”

Suddenly five guns were aimed at Winchester’s head.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was sitting quietly, trying to follow whatever the Skinwalkers were saying when they arrived. One of them, a boy about Singer’s age, was begging some guy called Cody to take him with them. The kid was desperate, telling him over and over that he wanted to hurt these people too. But Cody grabbed the boy’s shoulder and told him no. The older Skinwalker was all fatherly about it, telling the kid he had an important duty as well, looking after Sam, so he didn’t get away. But Sam recognized that tone. It was the one his own father used when he was giving Sam some ‘important duty’ that just meant he had to stay safe while Dad threw himself into danger.

The boy stamped his feet, but the Alpha wasn’t listening and started ordering the others, getting ready to attack. They hadn’t hurt him, but that didn’t stop Sam from being scared.  
Bobby Singer was part of the planning, pointing out some flaws that would have gotten them all killed, or worse, captured. And no one seemed to even think of trying to tell ‘him’ he had to stay back.

When they left, Sam tried to sit up and stared at the young Skinwalker, the boy was almost restless. Sam had to stop a chuckle when the raging angry boy turned into a yipping and barking Chihuahua. Oh forget it, he did start laughing. “Seriously?”

The dog turned back into a boy and grabbed his shirt, climbing back into his pants, his skin flushed red in embarrassment. “What? They’re dangerous dogs.”

It only set Sam off laughing even more.

The kid finally sat down on the bed next to him. “It’s not fair, all the others got to be big and scary, me, I end up being a joke.“

“Well you’re cute, that’s something, right?”

It only got him a growl. “I can still bite your ankles you know.”

“Ooh, now I’m scared.” It got him a yip that only made him want to pet the dog’s head. He was pretty sure he would lose his hand if he tried, so he managed to keep the urge at bay.

“Oh shut up. Just wait and see what kind of dog you’ll turn into, once Cody gets back.”

Sam’s breath froze. He tried to say something, stammer something, but he just couldn’t.

“Don’t worry, Cody doesn’t kill kids, it’s against the pack’s code. But it’s not like he can just let you go either. “

“He can’t…”

“It’s not so bad. We could be friends, I could teach you all about hunting prey and being a Skinwalker. That wouldn’t be so bad, right?”

Sam stared at him and pulled away against the headrest. He had to get away, now.

 

 

 

********

 

 

John remembered a day twelve years ago. His wife had died only a few months earlier and he’d been lost in his grief, wanting answers and hating the ones he got. In the end he just grabbed a bottle and lost himself in it for days at a time. Barely managing to feed his kids. Dean had been a godsend at the time, watching over his baby brother, keeping him quiet.

But at times, even that had only angered him more, that he could demand so much of his son and the boy would give it, that he could be so horrible a parent, and the boy would just take it. So he told him to get out, go play, stay the fuck away cause he was giving Daddy a headache. He hadn’t wanted to scream at Dean, hadn’t wanted to hurt him. It had been the booze and the loss and by the time he finally woke up from his drunken stupor, baby Sammy crying his head off, wailing for a new diaper. He looked around and his oldest wasn’t in the room. It was dark outside and he leaned up against the wall as he opened the door, ready to call his boy inside.

But Dean wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“Dean, get in here. Dean!” His head was bursting, killing him. But he grabbed the carrier with his youngest son in it, barely remembered to cover him against the cold and went outside, roaming the surrounding streets. It was no wonder when a cop car stopped next to him, demanding him to stop. Almost arresting him when he smelled the stench of the booze coming from John’s breath.  
He was still suffering from a hangover when he told them his son was missing. To please help him find Dean. And in that moment he would have done anything, stop hunting, give his life, sell his soul if he had to, if it meant he’d get his son back home.

The cops took him to the station, and it was hours before one of them actually listened to him and started the search. John had just sat there and let them. He’d already lost his wife, and now Dean, Dean was … gone and it was his fault.

When they finally sent him home, he stared at the empty bottles filling the room, desperately looking for another one, when Sam started crying. He threw the bottle against the wall, seeing its content dripping down from the wall and picked up his son. Cleaning the stuff up, was the last time he ever came near alcohol again.

He couldn’t even find it in him to be more hit by shock when the cops came to the motel room and asked him to come to the station, to identify the shreds of Dean’s clothes. They said they’d found bones and had seen a dog covered in blood. A dog, a fucking dog took his son and he couldn’t believe it, went looking for it and found it. A Skinwalker. The woman tried to beg him for mercy, tried to get him to listen, tried so hard to tell him it wasn’t her fault. But all he could see was his son’s blood on her teeth and he just shot her.

It was just a coincidence, right? That the stories matched up so well. That this boy had green eyes, like his Dean had had, that his features reminded John so much of Mary’s. The ages… It couldn’t be, because if it was, he’d sentenced his son to a life of horror, just because he’d been so crazed with revenge that he hadn’t been able to see straight and just listen.

It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. The bastard was lying, anything but that, anything, but…

“Now I can see the possibility that it wasn’t you.” Donald continued. “Like you said, you won him in a poker game. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe all you have to do is tell me who you got him from, and I can go kill that guy and the two of us can come to an … agreement. I could even offer you a finding fee. Say two hundred dollar. That’d be more than fair, wouldn’t you say?”

John managed to throw one of the men holding him up against a wall, kicked down a second of the guns aimed at him. But there were too many of them and soon he was held to the floor, while Donald went up to the Skinwalker again. John could see that the boy had tried to help him, but the guard behind him had grabbed him with a silver chain, forcing him down, head pushed to the floor.

Donald went up to him, and for a moment John thought he was going to beat the boy, but he didn’t. “You poor boy, still protecting your new master, aren’t you? Don’t worry son, you’ll learn to appreciate me soon enough.” He grabbed a dog treat from his bag and pushed it into the Skinwalker’s mouth. "I remember how you used to like these." The teenager didn’t even get a chance to spit it out, forced to swallow or choke.

And John remembered how the boy had quietly begged him for death, the night before, waking him up with silenced screams. He desperately tried to remind himself that this was a monster, that it wasn’t human, that it wasn’t his son, couldn’t be. But once the dam burst all he could see was a terrified young boy who was headed into a life of slavery, all over again and it was all his fault.

"Shoot him." Donald said, no longer interested in John, while he had the boy right in front of him.

John would have gladly taken his own bullet by then, but he couldn’t, he had to save the boy, had to get him out, even if it cost him his own life when he realized something. The same thing as in the bar, how the noises had suddenly stopped for a second before bursting out times a hundred. People screaming, dogs barking and then glass bursting as two large dogs kicked into the room.  
John managed to push away one of the guns, kicking the second guy in the guts, before grabbing out the first guys gun and aiming it at Donald.

He wanted so much to kill the bastard, but that would be too good for him. So when the dogs attacked Donald; and Donald didn’t get a chance to drop another of his orbs, John just grabbed the boy and shielded him from the sight.

It took ages and it was over far faster than Donald deserved. And it was then that another man stepped into the door. John let go of the boy, allowing him to get up, desperately grabbing for his gun, knowing he was as good as dead when he saw the look in the bearded man’s face.

“Oh god, Dean.” The man whispered and the boy looked up, and ran right at him.

“Dad!”

“It’s alright, Dean, you’re safe.” The man kept whispering, repeating the name, over and over again. And John sank to his knees, staring at the boy, at his boy, who called another man father and wishing they’d just killed him first.

 

 

 

*******

 

 

 

Bobby didn’t think he’d ever seen as controlled an attack as this. No one was killed, yet, but the doors were shut and Skinwalkers spread out to every entry to keep anyone from escaping. Both Vampires and Skinwalkers in the crowd seemed hesitant, in many cases too terrified of their owners to fight, even now. It was only as they got a bit further in that Bobby saw the first body. It almost surprised him to see the guy was shot, rather than clawed to death.

He recognized the guy, a Hunter, probably came in with Winchester. It only reminded him that he had to find Dean, now, before Winchester murdered him. He got up the stairs, watching as several of the Skinwalkers had already beaten him there.

He had to fight the urge to step in when he saw what the monsters were doing to the man on the floor, but then again, in this case, the creatures weren’t the actual monsters in the room. It was only then that he saw Dean. Winchester was holding him. For a moment he thought that Winchester was using him as leverage, using a seventeen year old boy as a hostage against the other Skinwalkers. But it was only when the maiming was over and Winchester let go of Dean that Bobby realized the truth, that Winchester had been shielding his son. It was almost enough to make him want to protect the man. Almost.

“Oh god, Dean.” Bobby whispered. Dean got up from the floor, his neck and arms tinged with red from silver poisoning. Even knowing it was only temporary, hurt, because he hadn’t been able to protect the boy from it. He stood there, frozen, wondering if he should shoot Winchester now. That’s when Dean ran up to him, grabbing hold of him as if never willing to let go.

“Dad!”

“It’s alright, Dean, you’re safe.” And all he could bring himself to do was whisper on the words, over and over, telling his son that everything would be fine now, that no one was ever going to hurt him again.

Dean was still at his side when he stared down, wondering what the hell they were going to do with these people, these monsters who thought they could control the wild. Some of them might even be innocent, not even realizing how many of these monsters were created. They weren’t human after all.

The Alpha stared at him, clearly wanting nothing more than to order his men to kill them all.

“I’ve called the police,” he finally said. “Told them about the bodies hidden around the grounds.”

Bobby’s grin grew feral at that. “Bodies?” he whispered.

“A lot of Skinwalkers and vampires were killed in these fights, slaughtered for the amusement of the crowd. As far as the cops go, it’s just people forced into fights to the death. Several of them were children, younger even than yours.”

"So you’re not going to kill them?"

"And get every Hunter in the county after my Pack?” Cody turned away. “I want to tear them to shreds, I want to make them suffer as they made our people suffer. But I have a responsibility, I have a Pack to look after."

"And most Hunters wouldn’t understand the truth." Bobby agreed with him. Even if he told every last one of them what had really happened, all they’d see would be a bunch of dead humans and a pack of monsters with blood on their fangs.

“They wouldn’t care, I know that better than anyone.” Cody whispered, he shrugged and stared at the cabinets. “I just hope that these bastards were thorough in their paperwork. That way we might find and free some of the Skinwalkers that weren’t here tonight.”

Bobby nodded before looking at Winchester who was dragged along by two of the Skinwalkers. His hands tied to his back and his legs shackled so he couldn’t try and run.

“What about Winchester?”

As if he heard his name, the man turned their way, staring at Dean. It made Bobby sick at the thought of what that man would have done to his son if given the chance.

“He gets a trial, a jury of our peers. Let’s see how he faces the loved ones of those he massacred, often for no reason beyond what they were.”

“They say he had reason.” Bobby tried to defend the man. “That someone, a Skinwalker, murdered his son.”

“You don’t see me killing every human I meet for what these bastards did! Why should he deserve more than that?”

"He was nice to me." Dean whispered softly. "Not in big ways, but he fed me, he wasn't cruel. And he tried to help me find Dad."

Dean looked away from Cody as if wondering if he had the right to speak up. No matter what Bobby did, Dean's self esteem was lower than that of a gutter rat. It didn't help that the boy had to be feeling the pull of his Alpha as much as the other Skinwalkers in the room did.

"He wouldn’t be here, if he hadn't tried to help me."

“Dean.” Bobby wanted to grab his son in a hug, he’d never been as proud as he was now, but it would make the boy embarrassed if he did. Teenagers!

“I know he was thinking of killing me, but it wasn’t just that. And he didn’t hurt me, he was just trying to protect his son from me. He thought we were the monsters. Shouldn’t we prove him wrong?”

Cody seemed hesitant at that, frozen in the moment of decision when a shot was fired. They all turned and saw a man lying on the floor, another man standing behind him. A Hunter. Bobby recognized him. Carter Willis, one of the biggest assholes in the hunting world suffering from a one track mind where dogs were concerned.

It was then that they saw the downed man had been holding a gun as well, one aimed at the Skinwalkers. The alpha grabbed the gun, smelling it, “silver” he spat out.

Willis just scoffed. “Well you guys were so busy talking, I figured I might as well save your hides.” The man was hurt, bleeding, and barely kept on his feet

“Why?”

“Because it’s one thing to hunt monsters, it’s another to ruin kids lives to make a profit. And I don’t play that kind of game.” He ran over, falling to his knees, it was then that Bobby noticed the blood stains on his chest. He’d been shot.

Cody ran up to the hunter, sniffing him. Bobby stared in shock when the Alpha leaned over the man on the floor, transforming to a dog, biting into the Hunter’s neck. Bobby wanted to grab his gun, run him to them, wanted to do something, when Dean pulled him back.

“He’s not killing him.” Bobby stared back, realizing something was happening to Willis’ body, it was shifting, slowly but surely until it showed the face of a large older golden retriever, who slowly got up on his paws, still wearing his now shredded clothes. “He’s saving him.”

 

 

 

*********

 

 

 

John wasn’t even sure what to expect anymore. Until he was thrown into a van already holding his son.

“Oh God, Sam.” Sam seemed fine, unhurt. Not that that had to mean anything.

“Dad?” The boy ran up to him, hugging him, scared of something, but unwilling to say what he was so scared of. Besides the Skinwalkers that were holding them hostage.

They were dragged out of the van, Sam taken away from him again as John was forced down the stairs to a basement.

Several of the Skinwalkers came in with him, showing there was no hope of escape. He was left alone in the dark, chained to the walls, before the Skinwalkers went back upstairs. And all John could think of was his children, Sam, who was so scared, and Dean, his beautiful Dean, alive.  
When the door opened, Bobby Singer’s was the last face he expected to see. The Hunter left the door open behind him and turned on the light, grabbing a footstool and sitting down on it before glaring at John.

"You took my son into a dogfight Winchester. You risked a seventeen year old kid's life, and nearly got him taken by a bunch of monsters who would have gladly raped him, taken everything he was away from him and turned him into a slave."

And John had no answer to that.

"You could have gotten him killed, and why? So you could put another few notches on your Skinwalker belt? So you could say you shot a few more dogs. Most of whom were innocents?” He raised his hand before John could interrupt him. “These things weren’t monsters, Winchester. They weren’t killing innocent people, they were victims."

And John froze back, trying to come up with a defense and not finding any.

“Do you want to know how I found Dean, John?”

John nodded.

“I followed a lead on people getting attacked and killed by dogs. I figured it might just be a couple of rabid dogs, but I couldn’t risk it being something else." He stopped for a moment, lost in thoughts, rubbing his beard before he continued. “What I found instead was a man, a regular human, who had taken a couple of children into his home, Skinwalker Children, and then trained them to fight in dogfights, starving them all if any of them lost a fight. By the time I got there, the dogs had gotten so hungry they’d been attacking anyone unfortunate enough to cross their master’s lands."

John had to stop the urge to throw up, remembering Donald’s story.

“But it wasn’t enough for this bastard to force kids to kill other kids. Kids, grown into men I had to kill because they were too soaked in bloodlust to dare and ask me for help instead of seeing me as an intruder. At the time, I knew the bastard was scum, but I just thought he was an idiot. Thinking he could control those Skinwalkers, while really they were playing him. It could have ended there, if I’d left then, I wouldn’t ever have realized what was really going on. And then I saw the puppy.“

Singer stared at his hands. "I made the dog change and I found out he was no more than a boy, a mere eight years old. The poor kid was naked as the day he was born, wearing some kind of shock collar to teach him not to speak or disobey. I was like you then, hesitating between killing him and putting him out of his misery, or saving him."

“Why didn’t you kill him?” John couldn’t help asking, no matter how grateful he was to Singer for the decision he’d made.

“Because he was a child, just a little boy. The things that that … filth, did to him. He still won’t tell me about it, goes blank when I even mention that period of time. And what was I supposed to do? Find his parents? Tell them their son was a monster now? That they would always have to watch out with him, because one day he might try and kill them?”

“So you took him in instead?”

“I adopted him, I raised him, I love him as if he were my own blood. He’s my son.”

“No he’s not. “ And then before Bobby could stop him. “He’s mine. He’s mine and he’s alive and I nearly…”

And it was then that John couldn’t fight it anymore. He hadn’t cried since he thought Dean had died. Since Mary, since… Broken apart by emotion, stronger than any he could ever imagine.

“I could have killed him, my own blood, my little boy.”

Bobby stared at him, got up and left. And John stared after him, up the stairs, Bobby froze as the door slammed shut right before his nose. It didn’t lock and Bobby left after something, someone… and John was left there, sitting in the light Bobby had left behind.

 

 

********

 

 

 

 

Dean ran, ran from the man in the dark. And what he hoped was the man’s lie. Bobby was his father, Bobby, not Winchester, right? Most of the Skinwalkers let him pass without a moment’s pause. There were so many of them in the compound. Men, women, even children, puppies, running about free, with no one telling them what to do beyond a grumbly demand to watch where they were going.

They were Skinwalkers, monsters. Monsters who sang songs to their babies, and nuzzled their children. Monsters who played cards and made jokes. When he saw Cody talking to some of the newly freed Skinwalkers he almost ran up to him, begging the older dog to tell him what to do. But he was beyond scared of getting an answer.

In the end he followed a scent, Sam’s scent. The boy was locked in a room upstairs. The guards hesitated a bit when Dean asked them if he could see the boy, but finally let him in.  
The youngest Winchester sat on the floor in the corner of the room, ignoring the bed, ignoring the sunlight streaming in through the window. It was a nice room, as far as rooms went. But it was obvious that the youngest Winchester wanted nothing to do with it. Sam froze when he noticed Dean standing in the door.

“Are you going to do it?” Sam demanded.

Dean froze. “Do what?”

“Turn me, that’s what they’re planning to do, isn’t it?”

Dean shivered at the thought, remembering the baby, the baby in his arms. “Take Sammy and run.”

A gruff voice ordering him to: “Get out.” Telling him to look after Sammy, calling him Sport. And Dean sank down on the floor next to Sammy.

“Take Sammy and run.” He whispered. “Take Sammy and run, look after Sammy. Sammy’s crying, don’t wake up Sammy. I don’t… I don’t remember much, but I remember Sammy. “

“You are him?” Sam looked up, “But he died?”

“He did, and he didn’t, he’s me. But I’m not that boy anymore. I stopped being that boy a long time ago.”

“Like they want me to stop being me?” Sam asked, as if he already knew the answer and Dean had no response to that.

“Look after Sammy. That’s all he ever wanted me to do. And then the man took me, and I didn’t have Sammy no more.”

“I’m sorry.” the boy said and Dean turned his way, sniffing the air, catching every last bit of Sam’s scent as he said words that he shouldn’t be the one saying.

“Did he even look for me? Did he miss me?”

“He killed half the Skinwalkers on the continent trying to avenge you, Dean. He loved you, he still does.”

“He shouldn’t have done that.”

Sam bowed his head. “He thought they killed you.”

And Dean leaned in against his brother, changing to his dog form without a second thought, his clothes more of a hinder now as he butted his head against the boy’s leg and Sam started petting him.

That’s how Bobby found them, a boy and his brother, cuddling together against the world, and Dean didn’t want to get up or out of this room.

“Take Sammy and run.” There wasn’t even a doubt in his mind of what he’d do if any of the Skinwalkers here ever threatened his Sammy again.


	6. teaser for the next part in the verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really a chapter so much, as that it's a part of the first chapter of the next part in the series... Hoping you'll like it anyway

Dean knew he could fool Sam, hell, while he was doing it, he could even fool himself for a few moments. Let himself believe that he was fine, but the moment Bobby had him alone, it became impossible to keep up the pretense.

And he’d fall down in place, shivering in the cold of the morning, flinching away from his father’s hands and welcoming warmth because he knew, just knew, that he didn’t deserve it.

He’d almost killed a girl, just for daring to stand up to him and the others. If Cody hadn’t been there to stop him, he had no idea what he might have done. Bobby could tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but Dean knew better. He’d heard those kids heartbeats racing under their skins, he’d smelled the terror in their sweat. And he’d still attacked, making things only worse, instead of letting Cody handle things.

He left the room before Bobby could stop him, he didn’t run, he just walked around, and around in a circle, spreading his scent further into the compound until he finally stopped, and stared at the only locked door in the compound.

Nobody was guarding the basement, even though everyone was. There was a lock on the door, but it wasn’t meant to keep anyone out. The key to it hung right next to the door. And even though every Skinwalker within the next few rooms would have been able to hear him opening the lock, not one of them seemed to care when he did. Why should they, it was nobody’s business why he wanted to see the Hunter. Most of the others could too, if they’d wanted to, Cody didn’t hide the human from them. It’s just that most of the Pack avoided the door and the lock as if both were formed out of pure silver.

The room was damp and cold, Dean could smell the mold in the walls, in what was left of the old flowery wallpaper that someone had once put up trying to make the room seem more … homey, and that was now too tainted by water damage to make out what design it was supposed to have had once upon a time.

Winchester was laid out on the bunk bed, his wrists chained together, as were his feet. Dean could hear the iron rattle as the man sat up at the sound of Dean’s boots on the wet stairs. Winchester tried to get up, but he couldn’t get up his feet because of the chain tying his neck to the wall, forcing him to at most sit or crouch on the floor if he wanted to get off the bed.  
Not that the man seemed to have any intentions to run. There was something broken about him, he felt off, nothing like the strong silent man that Dean had met at the Roadhouse. The anger that had filled the man then was gone, no not gone, aimed elsewhere. And when he saw Dean, he pulled back, sat down and stared up at Dean until he reached bottom.

Dean knelt down on the floor, staring up at the man. He was breathing slowly, taking in every trace of Winchester’s scent that had spread out, from the man to the bed to the walls. The room stank of unwashed flesh and there was a trace of gunpowder that seemed as faded as the man’s pride. It took Winchester some time before he lifted his head and confronted his visitor.

“Dean.” The man whispered, his hand reaching out for a second before he placed it back on the bed.  
Was this man really his father? There was this black hole in his life, one he’d never dared to cross, the time before Bobby, but seeing Winchester now made him realize that not only was there the time before Bobby and After Bobby, but there was the time before he’d been taken and after as well.

Dean didn’t know what to say to the Hunter. He stared at his hands, at the blood caked under his nails, between his fingers, on his palms and the stains that hadn’t come out right away. Even now his hair still clung with blood, the deer’s, the girls, he licked his lips, tasting human on his skin.

It had taken a week before he managed to find the courage to confront this man, this memory. Dean could feel the fear rising in the man’s scent, just a moment’s spike, before it was gone. But Dean knew he was scared, Dean knew why, and he couldn’t blame him.  
Dean felt tears drop from his eyes, before his breath hoarsened and he could hear and feel himself sobbing before he even fully realized he was doing it.

“Sam?”

Dean had to look away from Winchester, away from seeing this man as a person, as someone he should care about, rather than fear.

“Help me?” Dean whispered.

John sat up, the chains rattled as they stopped him from getting closer, Dean could have made it easier on him, but he didn’t, he stayed put, his knees on the cold wet tiles of the floor.

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

“I nearly killed someone.”, is what Dean wanted to say. Because even if John Winchester really were the man who’d sired him, he was still a Hunter, still someone who’d understand that monsters needed to be stopped, monsters like Dean, who’d kill innocent girls who’s biggest mistake was to try and defend herself against a pack of wild dogs. But he couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t condemn himself into the man’s eyes, without remembering.

“Take Sammy and run”, running down the stairs with the most precious bundle in the world in his hands. Feeling strong arms picking him up and carrying him and Sam outside, away from the fire and into the cold and dark.

“What was my mother like?” Was what he did say.

John fell back on his bed, his legs pulled close as if needing strength.

“She was amazing. She was beautiful and kind. She loved you, and Sam. When you were sick, she’d sing you songs. She didn’t have the greatest voice in the world, but I could listen all day as she sang ‘hey Jude’ to you or your brother. She couldn’t cook, but she kept trying to make this tomato rice soup that her mother had taught her to make, whenever any of us got sick. She was like an angel, desperately trying to adapt to mundane life and loving every second of it.”

“What happened to her?” Dean whispered, his hands forming circles in the dust on the floor.  
“She died. She died, and I couldn’t save her.” And that said enough for all time. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Dean looked up, curious now, because he wasn’t the one that Winchester should be apologizing to.

“I was lost after she died.” And the big man let his head sink on his hands as he slouched down, unable to look Dean in the eye. It made Dean want to run away, because men like John Winchester weren’t supposed to cry, it went in against all the rules. “I didn’t think, I didn’t. I want to blame the booze, the grief, but all I can remember is me telling you to go play outside, and I let them take you, I lost you and it was all my fault.”

Dean didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to go back to that night, to the man grabbing him, to the men aiding him as they brought him to the Dog, to the Skinwalker, as he got trained, got sold…

“They told me, you died. They brought me your clothes and I … I was stupid, lost, I thought she killed you, that she took you from me, and I should have looked for you. Should have found you before, before they could hurt you.”

Dean couldn’t move, trapped in memories, feeling filthy hands touching him everywhere, the collar stinging whenever he was human, which happened whenever his master wanted him in his bed. Feeling the pain as he tried to talk, the way the master made him play happy puppy whenever the kids came over in the weekends. Lying with the other dogs, scared of their scars, lying close to them.

“I’m so sorry.” Winchester was still repeating the words, but Dean barely even heard them anymore.

“I almost killed someone.” Dean finally managed to whisper the words, it stopped John’s litany.

“The blood?” he asked.

“Most of it was a deer’s, we went hunting.” Dean continued. “But there were these campers. One of them pulled a gun on Cody, on the Alpha and I … I jumped her, attacked her. I could have killed her if Cody hadn’t stopped me.“

John sat there, not saying a word, staring at his hands, at the chains holding him back. “Dean.”  
Dean crawled closer, still on his knees and pulled out a package he’d carefully covered in linen before bringing it along. He opened it on the floor in front of John. It was a dagger, one made of silver.

“Bobby won’t ever do it. And neither will Cody.” Dean didn’t cry, he wasn’t a baby, he didn’t cry. So what was that wetness near his eyes, he had no idea. “Please, help me. I can’t hurt Bobby like that. I can’t become a monster.”

John stared at him, his eyes wide in pain as if Dean had just gutted him with the dagger. John pulled up the knife, stared at it, held it in his hand. Then before Dean could say another word, the knife was thrown to the other side of the basement, hitting the wall with a clang and sliding a few inches before it finally stopped as it hit the ground.

“No.” was all John said.

“You kill Skinwalkers.” Dean tried one last time, unable to get up and simply pick up the knife and hand it over again.

“No.” John answered. “I lost you once, Dean. I can’t. I won’t. Not like this.”

Dean shifted, out of his shoes, held back by his clothes, he still ran up the stairs.

What was he supposed to do now?


End file.
